Elemental Alchemy HP DaVinci Code
by catchthesnitch
Summary: Murder, cryptic clues and puzzles, danger around every corner! Robert Langdon gets swept up in Harry Potter's world and he is about to have a coronary!
1. First Quarter

**Elemental Alchemy**

**Chapter One**

**10:55 am – Kings Cross Station -- London**

13-3-2-21-1-1-8-5

O, Draconian Devil.

O, Lame Saint.

The Fibonacci sequence: mathematical perfection. The anagrams: linguistic perfection. Robert Langdon gave a great sigh. He longed to put these phrases, and the horrible memories they invoked of the past year, out of his mind for good.

Unfortunately, though, he believed he would never be able to.

P.S. Find Robert Langdon…

Even two months later, the image of the words seared his mind, haunting him. "Find Robert Langdon." It still gave Robert chills knowing that the two parts of his name were the last words scribbled in desperation by a man dying a violent and painful death.

For once in his forty years, Robert Langdon felt his age, felt his certain mortality, even though he somehow skirted death more times in the past year than most would in a lifetime. "The Dolphin," as he was known around Harvard for his prowess in swimming and water polo, now felt more like "The Manatee" – slow, lumbering, and in a seemingly perpetual stupor.

Robert often took pride in his ability to keep fit and handsome, even with the mild crinkles at the corners of his eyes, and the gray snaking through his thicket of black hair. His female colleagues even considered him somewhat desirable, despite his rather erudite – no, he thought, resignedly – _nerdy_ occupation.

_Boston Magazine,_ naming Robert one of the most eligible bachelors in the city, dubbed him "Harrison Ford in Harris Tweed," a comparison that still made Robert's cheeks flush pink. Now, however, he felt more like Harrison Ford's alter-ego, Han Solo – only, when Solo was frozen in carbonite.

Where Robert would normally walk through a place like London's Kings Cross Station at a militaristic clip, today, tired and worn, all he wanted to do was sit. Sit and think. No, he thought, sit and _not_ think. Not think for a while, if he could help it.

Two days ago, Robert was in Paris, finishing the last of a whirlwind tour across Europe, sometimes visiting two cities -- or even two countries -- in one day. During this two-month tour, Robert gave lengthy presentations to priests, fellow symbologists, art historians, museum curators, students, and even the press, about his recent discoveries in Paris.

Quite by accident, Robert, a professor of religious symbology and art, gained instant fame when he discovered the location, and more importantly, the true nature, of the famed and elusive Holy Grail – the San Greal, or as he discovered – the Sang Real – Royal Blood. When he made this discovery, Robert could not have been happier, or more relieved, despite the gruesome clues and circumstances. "O Draconian Devil, O Lame Saint…"

The day before, Robert, upon checking into a posh London hotel (a personal treat), received a phone call from a former student, Paolo Zabini, who, Robert knew, lived somewhere in the Highlands region of Scotland. Paolo, in his Italianate urge toward hospitality, invited – no, insisted – that Robert come up and spend time with the Zabini family. Weary and (as his students often said) brainfried, Robert had no reason to refuse and likely had no chance of arguing his way out of it. Robert didn't even stop to wonder how Zabini could possibly have known where he was.

Eight years ago, Paolo Zabini began at Harvard as what Robert termed a "Harvard Fogey;" one of those unique students who began study at a late age. Paolo was the same age as Robert, and, when Robert would get exceptionally testy or overly condescending in lectures, Paolo would not-so-gently remind him of that fact.

Paolo's love for ancient runes and other, as he would call "magically religious" symbols endeared Paolo to Robert, and the two became fast friends. Robert worked an inordinate amount of time to help Paolo present his final thesis on the dualities and contrasts found within runic writings, alchemaic symbols, and modern symbolism.

Paolo's wife, Victoria, was beautiful, and she was as brilliant and curious as Paolo – even more so – and was one of the best hostesses Robert had ever met. Robert was also looking forward to getting reacquainted with Paolo's son, Blaise, who was only nine years old when he last saw him, and would now, knowing the size of his father, be a strapping man at age seventeen.

Robert sat on a hard, plastic bench near a bank of British Telecom payphones. He fished his train ticket out of the breast pocket of his Harris tweed jacket. Paolo, bless him, had saved Robert the trouble of waiting in a long queue at the station to purchase a ticket. The small, silvery sheaf of paper was couriered to Robert's London hotel room that very morning.

Robert, assuming everything was in order, had not taken the time to actually _read_ the ticket. All he knew was that the train was going from London to some little town Robert had never heard of called Hogsmeade, and that the train would leave at 11:00 am on September 1st. Until now, Robert had not even checked to see from which platform the train would leave.

Robert's bench sat facing a large computer monitor hanging from the ceiling near a ticketing counter. He looked up, his overtired eyes squinting at the multicolor-coded display. "Hogsmeade, Hogsmeade," he mumbled to himself, looking for the destination entry. "Eleven o'clock." To Robert's chagrin, and mild surprise, there was no listing for Hogsmeade and in fact, there was no train scheduled to leave at 11:00. "What the?" He cursed silently. Robert unfolded the ticket in his hand and read it again. "London to Hogsmeade, 11:00 a.m., Kings Cross Station."

Then, Robert's eyes fell on something incredible. _Impossible._ This shining silvery ticket in his hand actually did state the platform number. He read the number, then read it again. "No way." Still in disbelief, Robert scrubbed at his eyes, blinked, and then read it again, this time, out loud. "Platform 9 and 3/4." Robert was incredulous. "Is this some kind of joke? If it is, it isn't funny." He muttered. "I'll kill Paolo for this!"

He reached for his cell phone – normally kept in the same breast pocket as the ticket – and pulled it out. The battery was missing, and the top hinge was broken. He sighed and scrubbed at his eyes again. "Crap!" He forgot that he accidentally dropped and broke the same cell phone outside Notre Dame three days ago. The battery was lost in the River Seine. I should just pitch this thing, Robert thought. Verizon owes me a new one anyways. He looked at his watch. Mickey Mouse was telling him it was five minutes to eleven.

But then, Robert's curiosity, as it always does, got the best of him. Instead of turning around and buying a ticket straight for Edinburgh and the plane home, he walked forward, toward the platforms, and found the door leading to both platforms 9 and 10. Well, he thought, if there is a Platform 9 and ¾ it must be through this door. He knew it wasn't beyond Paolo to pull a joke, but one like this, especially when he knew Robert was so, as Paolo says, knackered? Robert didn't think so.

There had to be some rational explanation, and some reason – and that reason, Robert believed, was that there actually _is _a Platform 9 and ¾. As ground down as his brain felt, Robert, being who he is, could not pass up a challenge, and certainly could not pass up this apparent puzzle – which Mickey told him he now had four and one half minutes to solve.

Robert strode with renewed vigor down the aisle connecting the two train platforms and looked around. He almost approached a trainsman and asked for directions, but thought the better of it. He imagined it would sound, as the trainsman would likely put it, "nutters" to be asking for directions to a platform that, as far as Robert saw, did not exist. Instead, Robert began searching for a staircase, a tunnel, something hidden, an elevator, a door, anything… but he found nothing. Four minutes to go.

And then, he heard it. The name wasn't "Hogsmeade," but it was awfully, thankfully, close.

"… last year at Hogwarts, Ron, dear. We're so proud that you made Head Boy…" A woman's voice echoed just ahead of Robert. He moved closer and listened more intently. "When you get there, we'll send an owl with your new robes, darling. Oh, we couldn't be happier, Ron, just like your father and brothers before you…"

The lanky red-haired boy called Ron muttered under his breath to the tall, muscular, dark-haired boy standing next to him. "New robes? I'd rather have one of those Firebolts like you've got, mate!"

Robert noticed that both boys carried, besides their overlarge trunks and a smattering of oddly-shaped packages, birdcages upon their trolleys. Ron's cage held a small, puffball of a bird, and the other boy's cage contained a large, majestic snowy-white owl. The snowy owl looked directly at Robert, blinked, and hooted haughtily.

The woman spoke again, now making a seemingly futile attempt to straighten out the dark boy's rather scruffy hair. "And you, Harry. Take care of yourself, dear. I'll tell Tonks and Mad-Eye that we got you on the train on time and in one piece. And Harry, don't worry yourself overmuch about anything this year, especially about You-Know-Who. You know you're safe at school." She planted kisses on Harry's and Ron's foreheads.

Send an _owl_? New _robes_? Mad-Eye? Hogwarts? Firebolts? You-Know-Who? _I'm in the Twilight Zone_…. It was as if these people were speaking a different language – more so than the usual Anglo to American dialect barrier he often experienced in London.

Then the black-haired boy, Harry, spoke, his frighteningly green eyes twinkling behind his round glasses. "Thanks, Mrs. Weasley. Thanks for letting me stay with you again this summer, and er… for not minding me dragging Ron and Ginny out for Quidditch practice every day."

There was another new word. _Quidditch_.

"Think nothing of it, Harry, dear," said Mrs. Weasley. "You and Ron more than made up for it by de-gnoming the garden every week for me, saved me the trouble it did." She smiled. "Besides, Harry, it was good of you, you Quidditch captain, you, to help train Ginny to be your alternate Seeker on the Gryffindor team this year."

Robert scratched his head. _I **must **be in the Twilight Zone…_ He heard three more strange words. De-gnoming, Seeker, and _Gryffindor._

Mrs. Weasley apparently had noticed Robert standing there, and to his chagrin, also noticed that he had been listening. She turned around, looked at the ticket in Robert's hand, then up at Robert. She gave a maternal smile. "Can I help you dear? Lost, are we? Needin' to find the train?"

Robert was momentarily taken aback. But then, heck, he thought, why not. Maybe this woman could help, maybe she could lead him to the elusive Platform 9 and ¾. Silent, Robert held out his ticket for Mrs. Weasley. The large, kindly red-haired woman took it, still smiling. "Ah," she said. "Yes, the Hogwarts Express. You're going to Hogsmeade, then?"

"Uh, yes, ma'am. I'm going to visit some friends from --"

Mrs. Weasley cut him off. "Oh, Merlin's Beard! You're American!"

_Merlin's Beard_, that's a new one.

Mrs. Weasley then turned and called to yet another red-head -- a portly, middle-aged man standing near a support column. Robert presumed him to be Mr. Weasley. "Arthur, come here a mo'. This American needs some help finding the platform." Arthur came striding jauntily up toward the group. He looked at his watch.

"Oh, dear, the boys only have two more minutes to meet Ginny and get on the train." Arthur eyed Robert wearily, seemingly taking in his clothing. This made Robert feel suddenly very self-conscious. "Ah yes, American, eh? Musta gone to the Academy, then. Ever been to Hogsmeade before?"

"Uh, no, sir. Uh, Academy? No, um… What Academ-- "

Like Mrs. Weasley, Mr. Weasley interrupted Robert's apparent stammering. "Pish on that sir stuff my good man," Arthur held out his right hand. Robert shifted his now defunct cell phone into his left hand and returned the handshake. "Arthur Weasley. I'm with the Ministry of Magic."

"Ministry of _what_?" _Okay, I can't be anywhere **but **the Twilight Zone…_

"Ministry of Magic! Even American wizards….you can't tell me you've never heard of…" Arthur stopped suddenly, looking Robert up and down again, fixating on the cell phone, the leather suitcase, the turtle neck and finally, the Harris tweed jacket. "Wait a minute! You're a Muggle, aren't you? How'd you get a ticket? Imagine that, Molly, dear, a Muggle taking the Hogwarts Express!"

Arthur's voice suddenly began to catch and waver, and his words tumbled out one on top of the other. "Well, he does have a ticket, don't he, Molly dear? Must be somethin' serious, bringing a Muggle to Hogwarts! Last time we got Muggles involved in our affairs was when Sirius, rest his soul, escaped that horrible place, Azkaban, and everyone thought he was an insane murderer! Remember, Molly? Fudge had to tell the Muggle _Prime Minister_ all about it, get out the word to all the Muggles about his escape! Ruddy waste of time that was, we all know poor, poor Sirius was innocent, eh, Molly?"

Yet two more new words – _Muggle _and_ Azkaban_. He also thought he distinctly heard Arthur say, "American _wizards_." Robert was now feeling very stupid, very stupid indeed.

_No, I'm not in the Twilight Zone_._ Wizards? Yes, that's it. Witches and wizards. I'm in **Oz**._

"Muggle?" Robert blinked, then shook his head. "A friend, he sent me this ticket this morning, and I'm supposed to meet him at this Hogsmeade place."

Robert saw Arthur stare hungrily at the cell phone, as if it were the Illuminati Diamond itself. Robert immediately pocketed it. He could swear he actually saw disappointment in Arthur's eyes – as if a valuable treasure or the vital clue to a puzzle had slipped away. Robert knew that feeling all too well, resulting from things like failed Crypteces, mistakes in interpretation, or unintelligible symbolic clues – but never over something as mundane as a cell phone.

"Oh, dear," said Arthur, now looking around. "Listen, boys – Harry, Ron – you two'd better get through the barrier and get on the train. We can't have you missing the train again now. Get a move on."

Both boys nodded and began to move their trunk-laden trolleys toward the barrier. "Wait," Robert said. "They're going to…where are they…Oh my good heavenly Lord!" Robert's eyes bulged. Both boys, Harry and Ron, ran full-on at the barrier, and, incredibly, disappeared through it. Robert felt as if his jaw would come unhinged from the rest of his face. If this was a hoax, it was becoming a damn good one.

"Where did they – what just happened – what _is_ that?" Robert pointed at the barrier. Apparently, despite Robert's skepticism, these people maybe, just maybe -- actually _were_ wizards. Stranger things have happened in Robert's life. If a modern-day Illuminati can really exist, or if the Holy Grail could actually be a person, why couldn't there be real wizards?

"It's the way to get to Platform 9 and ¾," Arthur explained, calmly. "Mr…"

"Oh, sorry. Robert Langdon. Robert." Robert was still staring at the barrier, his usual cynicism and disbelief ebbing away.

"Yes, Robert," Arthur continued, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Er, was that a fellytone you had there?"

_Fellytone_? "A what?"

"In your pocket there, a fellytone?" Arthur seemed in awe. "Can I, er… see it?"

"Fellytone….Oh! You mean my cell phone? _Telephone_!" Robert couldn't believe this guy was so pumped up about a stupid, non-functioning cell phone. Robert retrieved the mangled phone from his pocket. Arthur beamed, wide-eyed, obviously having never seen one before.

"Yeah," Robert continued, "this is a cellular phone – like a regular phone, but without a cord. Works with radio waves, kind of."

Who were these people and what rock did they climb from under – not knowing what a cell phone is? Robert couldn't believe he was actually explaining how a cell phone works! "Doesn't work, and its busted, but it is a cell phone. Haven't you ever seen one?"

Arthur shook his head. "We use the normal, traditional ways to communicate…floo powder, owls, and the like. Most wizard houses have too much magic – it interferes with eclectrizzity and rallidio signals."

Electricity and radio, Robert wanted to correct him, but did not quite have the heart to do so. "Here," he said, extending the cell phone toward Arthur. "You can have it."

It was as if Robert gave Arthur the keys to the Vatican's secret archives. Arthur took it gingerly, and turned the object over and over, a broad smile breaking over his face. Molly, on the other hand, scowled. Uh oh. Robert laughed inwardly. I think I just fed the habit of a – what's the word – Muggle - gadget freak.

Arthur, seeing his wife's disapproval, snapped out of his reverie. "Well, Robert, thanks for this." He held up the phone and gave a nod and a wink. "If you're going to get on the train you'd best do it now." He looked at his watch and pointed at the barrier.

Robert had momentarily forgotten about the barrier. "You mean, go through there?" Robert felt his heart pound against his sternum. "No way. Nuh-uh. Run at that column like those boys did? I'm not a wizard! I can't do that! That's impossible!"

Molly smiled and handed Robert back his ticket. "You do have a ticket, don't you? Means you must be meant to be on that train, Muggle or not! Believe me, son, it's not impossible, and you can -- if you hold tight to your ticket. You only have about a minute before the train leaves. Get going!" She gave Robert a motherly shove toward the barricade. Robert just continued to gawk, thoroughly and completely nonplussed. Molly sighed. "Okay, Robert, we'll take you through."

Molly took one arm, and Arthur the other. Robert, trying with all of his might not to flinch, allowed himself to be carried forward, his suitcase in tow. He thought for sure he was going to smack his face into the wall and break his nose. But, as he brought his hand up to protect his face, just the opposite happened.

Robert felt strange -- a melting, almost pulling sensation around his middle for a spilt second, and then he felt himself emerge, as if breaking the surface of water, into a grand, expansive, old-fashioned train platform. Robert read a brass and plastic sign above him. He knew instantly that Paolo did not hoax him, and he knew that he was in the right place.

"Platform 9 and ¾."

**Chapter Two**

**10:59 am – Platform 9 and ¾ -- London**

Robert had never spent a day feeling so out of place in his entire life. Even as a bookish scholar walking across a campus quad full of hip adolescents, he felt a sense of belonging. Here, he knew for certain that he was the odd-man-out. The utter strangeness of these people seemed to make them common here.

While most of the kids boarding the train were dressed -- well, as normal teenagers -- their parents wore bright-colored cloaks, tall pointy hats, or extremely mismatched or worse, outdated outfits. One man was actually wearing a green pinstriped suit with a bright yellow fedora – a Zoot suit. Robert, in his conservative Dockers, was the weirdo here. He was the "Muggle," as Arthur had called him. _But, what is a Muggle? A Muggle among what? Wizards?_ Luckily for Robert, with the bustle of the platform and with the train preparing to leave, no one seemed to notice him.

"There y'are, Robert," Arthur said. "There's your train. Hop on and you'll go straight to Hogsmeade." Arthur's lips pursed. "You look like you're a professor."

"I am. I am a professor." Robert said.

"You're not the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts, are you? The Minister'd be beside himself if Dumbledore hired a Muggle for that job…"

"Dumble-who? Defense against the whatsits?" Robert's otherwise sharp mind was reeling with all of this new information. "No, no, no. I'm an art professor at Harvard in America. I'm going to Hogsmeade for personal reasons."

Arthur looked relieved. "Well, you probably wouldn't want that Dark Arts job anyways. Last six professors never made it past one year there." He smiled. "Some say, y'know, that the job's jinxed!" Robert nodded weakly.

The great black and red steam engine whistled melodically and belched forth a great parti-colored billow of smoke. Arthur looked at his watch. "You'd best be boarding, now." He shook Robert's hand. "Well, whatever your business in Hogsmeade, I wish you the best."

"Thanks, thanks a lot. I never would have found this without you two. Enjoy the fellytone!" Robert handed his suitcase to the porter, and boarded the train.

Robert noticed that that he was the only adult on a train full of students. From what he saw, the students ranged in age from about eleven to seventeen. British secondary school, the equivalent of grades 6 through 12 in the U.S. Boarding school – but a boarding school for whom? The thought crossed his mind again, strange as it was. Hogwarts was a boarding school for budding witches and wizards! "Incredible." Robert said aloud. This, truly, was a major find.

Robert walked toward the rear of the train, looking for a seat. All of the compartments were bursting with chattering, excited students. Some of which, Robert could have sworn, were playing with wands and performing what appeared to be actual spells – changing objects different colors, shooting sparks from the wand ends, turning tea cups into cakes, and the like. Robert quickly realized, to his astonishment, that these kids were learning much more than the "pick a card, any card," slight of hand type of tricks. These children were gifted with real, true magic.

Robert even passed a compartment where a blond-haired, doe-eyed girl had what looked like a wand stuck behind her left ear. Stranger more, this girl was reading a magazine called the _Quibbler_ – upside down. In the same compartment, another girl, a red-head _(another Weasley?)_ was levitating a long, red and yellow scarf. As the door was open, Langdon could hear her say over and over, changing the syllabic intonation each time, "Wingar-dium Levio-sa, Wingard-ium Levi-osa!"

Robert was nearing the end of the train, and still had not found a seat. Then he heard someone call out to him. "Oy, you! American!" It was the red-haired boy, Ron Weasley. Thankfully, Ron and the boy called Harry had been waiting for him, and saved him a seat in their compartment. Robert jogged the length of the rest of the coach to the now open compartment.

"Thanks," Robert said. "I think I would have had to stand the entire trip if you hadn't grabbed a seat for me."

"No problem," Ron said. "By the way, I'm Ron Weasley, and this is my best mate, Harry Potter."

Robert shook both boys' hands. "Robert Langdon." As Robert sat down he saw a pretty, bushy-brown-haired girl whose nose was buried in a book. The title of the book was _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Seven. _ Wizards, Robert reminded himself. Wizards.

The girl looked up and began speaking rapid-fire. "You're a Muggle, I hear. I'm Muggle-born. My parents are Muggles. Harry's aunt and uncle are Muggles, too. So, what are you doing on this train if you're a Muggle? Do you know about magic? You look like a teacher, do you study it?"

"Muggle." Robert repeated, becoming quite sick of hearing this heretofore meaningless word. "Please tell me, what does that mean?"

The girl piped up again, still speaking rapidly. Ron rolled his eyes, unseen by the girl. "Muggle means a person who has no magical talents or abilities and has no family members who are magical." She rattled off the definition as if reading it from her textbook. "I'm Hermione. Hermione Granger, by the way." She, too extended a hand.

"Robert Langdon, pleasure to meet you." Robert scowled. "But, is this train for witches and wizards only?"

"Normally, yes," Hermione replied. "The train takes Hogwarts students to school at the beginning of term and back at the end. But it runs every day, too for Hogsmeade residents. It's pretty rare that we get other passengers on the first day of school, unless, of course, they're Hogwarts teachers…" Robert could see the gears turning behind Hermione's eyes.

"No, I'm not the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, if that's what you're going to ask." Robert chuckled. "Your dad asked me the same thing," Robert said to Ron. "Must be a prized position that one. Sounds like it has quite a history. No, I'm heading to Hogsmeade. An old friend, a former student of mine, asked me to spend a couple of days with him and he's picking me up at Hogsmeade station."

Suddenly, a revelation hit Robert like an anti-matter explosion. Holy crap! Paolo. Alchemaic symbols and ancient runes! That's it! Paolo Zabini – he's a -- wizard!

The same thought must have crossed Harry's mind. "Uh, who's your friend? Did you even know he's a wizard? He must really trust you if he gave you a ticket to this train – wizarding's supposed to be secret from Muggles."

"No, I didn't know," Robert mused. "Not at least, until now. His name is Paolo. He studied runes and alchemaic symbology under me at Harvard. But yeah, I guess he does trust me. I've kept bigger secrets. Still do."

"Alchemaic what?" Harry asked, "and where's Harvard?"

Hermione chimed in yet again. "Alchemaic symbology is the study of the symbols and nomenclature used by alchemists – like Nicholas Flamel – to keep track of experiments and write formulas. These symbols were all based off of the symbols for the four scientific elementals – earth, air, fire and water."

Robert smiled approvingly at Hermione, quite impressed that she knew the elementals, and, moreso, that she who Nicholas Flamel was. "Very good, Hermione."

"And," Hermione continued, "Harvard University is in Cambridge, Massachusetts. It's the U.S. equivalent of our Oxford."

"Ruddy show-off, that one -- gets anywhere near a teacher and bloody well can't keep her mouth shut." Ron muttered, making an open-and-shut gesture with his hand. Harry grinned conspiratorially. Hermione, likely too prideful at Robert's praise, did not seem to notice – or to care.

"But, come now, Hermione," Robert chided, "I wouldn't go so far as to _insult_ Harvard by saying that Oxford's its equivalent! But yes, Harvard is a top University in the United States. My passion is symbolic interpretation, solving symbol puzzles, so to speak. I teach art history and religious symbolo…" Robert stopped, suddenly fixated on a spot just above Harry's glasses and over his left eye. "Speaking of which…"

Harry, previously smiling, suddenly became self conscious and slightly morose. "What?" He rubbed his forehead. "Oh, yeah, that." Harry deflated. "That's my scar."

"Wow," said Robert. "That's some scar. May I ask…"

"Sure, everyone else does." Harry moped. "I got it when I was a baby. A wizard named Voldemort…" Ron shuddered. "Oh, blast, will you come off it, Ron!" Harry continued. "You-Know-Who killed my parents and then tried to kill me. The curse he used on me backfired and left him powerless. All it left me with was this scar." Harry appeared tired and weary of the now rote explanation.

You-Know-Who – Voldemort. _That's who Molly was telling Harry not to worry about. _He made a mental note.

"Thanks, Harry," Robert said. "My guess is you're sick of telling that story?" The look on Harry's face confirmed it. "It's just that the shape of your scar – it is a powerful symbol. It has meaning in a lot of cultures." Harry suddenly appeared interested, as did Hermione and Ron. Robert continued.

"The lightning bolt, or the shrek mark, is based on the Germanic Sigrune -- the victory rune, meaning military prowess, violence, battle, death or war. It's also a symbol for energy. In some contexts, it could also mean anger or wrath or hatred -- fire, or the presence of an extremely energetic reaction. It's also a symbol for unleashable, unfathomable power, or maybe a dangerous, hidden or unseen power source – like a warning sign. Zeus' symbol was a lighting bolt. The lighting bolt was used as a mark to demonstrate power and evoke fear in Nazi Germany – the SS." Robert was again in his element.

"Say that again, Mr. Langdon, please," Harry leaned forward in his seat "About the power."

"Unleashable, unfathomable power?"

"No, the other part. The warning."

"A hidden power source?"

Hermione, Ron and Harry stared at each other for what seemed a long moment, in utter disbelief and awe. Robert suddenly felt left out again. "What?"

"Harry, then maybe its – its true," Hermione's eyes darted from Harry to Robert, as if she were asking Harry permission to divulge a strictly-kept secret in front of Robert. Harry remained silent.

"The prophecy!" Hermione continued, "_but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not._" Harry's eyes widened. "That might confirm it. Your scar, the shape of it, the," she looked at Robert earnestly now, "the _symbology _of it."

"Power that is hidden." Harry mused, his head bowed, cupped in his hands. "_Power the Dark Lord knows not_." Like Hermione before, Robert could almost see Harry's brain working. Harry snapped his head up, his preternaturally green eyes now boring into Robert's. "Mr. Langdon, how long are you planning to stay in Hogsmeade?"

"I don't know, a few days, maybe, but why?" Robert's curiosity was again piqued, as if he was privy to a conversation he should not even be hearing. His mind raced anew. Wizards? A prophecy? A Dark Lord? This whole situation – the platform, the strange words, the train, these kids, Harry's eyes, the magic – it was all sounding more and more like something out of a Tolkien or C.S. Lewis novel than real-life. But here it all was, sitting right in front of him, literally staring him in the face.

"This Dark Lord, in this -- this prophecy you talk about -- is that the same as Voldemort, the one who tried to curse you, Harry?" Again, Ron shuddered. Although Robert didn't fully understand why it was taboo to speak the name, "Voldemort," he got the clue. "Um, You-Know-Who?"

"Well, yes. One and the same." said Harry, with a sudden, frigid calm. "And, he's back now. I think, but I'm not sure, that the prophecy says either I will kill him – or I will die trying. But, I'm not certain that the prophecy is actually about me. There are too many uncertainties."

"Right," said Robert, with some of his skepticism thankfully intact, "but that's all it is – a prophecy? I mean, it doesn't have to come true, right? It doesn't have to happen that way. I mean, we all control our own destinies, don't we?"

Harry blinked slowly and deliberately, his bright green eyes suddenly darkening, as if controlled by a dimmer switch. "Oh, but it does, Mr. Langdon. Trust me, Voldemort has to die, and he will if I can help it. If I'm the one -- I almost hope I'm the one -- meant to do it, I _will _fulfill that prophecy." The steely, lethal growl permeating Harry's voice made the hair on the back of Robert's neck prickle. This boy was quite unlike any seventeen-year-old he'd ever met before. Truly, there was something intensely odd about Harry Potter – and that oddity made this boy quite frightening.

As quickly as the hatred arose within Harry, it disappeared. Harry continued, the air of malevolence lifting. "Mr. Langdon, if you wouldn't mind, if you have time -- we may have one of those symbol puzzles for you to figure out."

**Chapter Three**

**5:59 pm – Hogsmeade Station - Hogsmeade**

Seven hours later, the train came to a halt at the Hogsmeade station. The early September sunset was painted pink and orange over the Eastern sky. By the time he had gotten off the train and claimed his baggage, it would be dark.

During the remainder of the train ride, Robert, Harry, Ron and Hermione shared mainly small talk. Robert told them the stories of how he and Vittoria Vettra had been a part of the very, well, interesting Vatican conclave and Illuminati mystery just a year ago.

"I read about that! In the London newspapers!" Hermione said. "Your picture was all over it! No wonder why you look so familiar!"

He also told them about how he and Sophie Neveu broke the code Sophie's grandfather left on the floor of the Louvre Museum, leading them to his killer and the location of the Holy Grail. "O Draconian Devil, O Lame Saint…"

The kids, while impressed and engrossed in Robert's stories, were not as forthcoming about their own histories. Judging, however, from the jadedness Robert sensed in Harry Potter, Robert knew that the boy must have lived through some horrific experiences. Even after hours of conversation, all Robert knew was that Harry Potter was essentially a marked man, and that he played some part in the resurrection of his potential killer – or, according to the prophecy – his potential victim.

As Robert never really committed to helping the kids with the deciphering of the prophecy, Robert understood why he never really gained their trust. Here he was, a Muggle, an art scholar, and someone whom they perceived could blow the lid off the entire wizarding world and gain significant fame and profit from it. Harry, Ron and Hermione obviously were trained to keep their abilities a secret from Muggles like Robert.

Despite the fact that Robert's escapades were just as unbelievable and fantastic as the existence of true magic, and that a wizard, Paolo Zabini, had obviously trusted Robert explicitly with this secret, apparently, these children had been burned before. After a rather rude remark from Harry, albeit directed towards Hermione, about people putting their noses in where they didn't belong, Robert knew to quit asking questions.

As the doors to the train opened, Robert said his goodbyes and shook hands with his compartment-mates. He then followed the line of students out onto the platform. As he emerged, he heard a booming voice.

"Firs' years this way, now. Firs' years, yer comin' with me. Line up and get on yer boats! Firs' years goin' ta Hogwarts!"

As he was looking around for the source of the voice, Robert felt a large hand clap him roughly on the shoulder. As he turned around, he distinctly heard the silky, yet strangely-accented baritone voice of his old friend.

"Surprised, Roberto, _il mio amico_? Welcome to Hogsmeade, Dolphin! It's so good to see you. It's been so long! _Dio mio_!"

Robert couldn't help but smile. "_Paolo, voi vecchio cane_! You old dog, you!"

The two men clapped at each other's shoulders in a male version of an embrace. A second later, Robert found himself wrapped tight in the taller man's arms, and being lifted off the platform.

"Ugh! Put me down, man!" Robert exclaimed. Paolo put him down, and held Robert out at arm's length. Robert brushed at his now-crinkled Harris tweed. "Any excuse to show you're still stronger than me, eh?"

Paolo cocked his head, and his mouth turned up on one side in a smirky grin. His pale blue eyes flashed. "_'Il Delfino ha capelli grigi_!"

"Yeah, so what, so I do. Gray hair makes me look dashing despite my bookish occupation." Robert ruffled Paolo's salt-and-pepper mop of hair. "What about you? What happened to all that brown stuff up there? You have more gray than I do, so I wouldn't talk."

Paolo turned and wrapped his arm around Robert's shoulder, leading him toward the luggage claim. "Did you have a nice train ride?" Paolo asked.

"Now that you mention it, Paolo," Robert said. "The ticket could have come with some instructions. I had no idea I'd be looking for a platform that for all intents and purposes doesn't exist! I had to do what no prideful man likes to do – ask for directions!"

Paolo laughed. Robert stopped at the haphazard pile of luggage sitting on the platform. He immediately found his black Coach leather suitcase. It stood out like a sore thumb in among all of the immense, red, green, yellow, and blue student trunks. Paolo retrieved the case for him and the two continued down the platform.

"Seriously, though," Robert continued. "In all the years I've known you, you never told me that you were – well, about your – your, uh…"

"That my son and I are wizards, and my wife is a witch?" Paolo finished the sentence for Robert.

"Well, yes." Robert blinked.

"We all have our secrets, don't we, Robert?" Paolo said mysteriously. "I know our friendship meant, and still means, a lot – to both of us. Trust me, Robert, when I was at Harvard I wanted to tell you. I think it would have made you understand why I was so fascinated with alchemy and runes."

You're right, Robert thought. Not so strange now that you think about it. Makes sense.

"But," Paolo's voice lowered to a harsh whisper. "You must understand that you are coming here at great risk to me, to the wizarding world, and even, Robert, to yourself. You must also know that there are those who object severely to your being here, and may insist that your memory be modified before you are even permitted to leave."

Memory…modified? Yeah, great. Some vacation this will be. Just what I need, more danger, not to mention the opportunity to likely have my brains scrambled like so much egg.

"There is a statute of secrecy I am bound to uphold at all costs. No one outside our world is to know about magic and wizardry. It took a very special, and extremely unique set of circumstances to even get you that ticket."

"You make it sound like you had to ask for a special dispensation from Pope in order to let me come here." Robert joked, helping Paolo carry the suitcase down an immense flight of stairs.

Paolo, however, did not joke. "Essentially, I did." Robert stared. "I had to ask Professor Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster at Hogwarts, and a member of the Wizengamot, if you could come here. He, in turn, had to get a majority vote from the Wizengamot."

"The Wizenga_what_?" Robert found himself muddling words in this fashion more times than he would have liked to today.

"The wizarding judicial council, so to speak." Paolo explained.

"So," Robert sighed. "I take it I'm here for more than some rest and relaxation as you so tantalizingly promised." Although Robert fought it, he could not help but allow his voice to swell with anger and frustration. Whether it was aimed at his friend or the situation, Robert did not know.

"Paolo," Robert's voice became hollow. "The last thing I want right now, especially after the past year – the whole Vatican debacle, almost dying in Paris -- is another quote-unquote adventure, another puzzle to solve." Robert could hear his voice percolate now with growing anger. "All I want right now is rest. Uninterrupted rest. I'm on sabbatical, man! Honestly, I don't want there to be another opportunity for something or someone to finally snuff me! _Merda_, Paolo!" He swore, "I hauled my ass on this bizarre train for nearly an entire day, all the way up here to get away from all that – not dive headlong into it again!"

Paolo's eyes fell, and he dropped his head into his hand. "I am sorry for _la bugia, il inganno_, the lie, Bobby, but it was necessary. You are needed here. If there was a wizard who had your knowledge and skill, trust me, they would have called on that person first."

"But you, Paolo! You have that skill! I taught you everything I know about symbology! You even taught me some things!"

"Believe me, Bobby. I do not, and I am not the person for this job. You are. I am, let's just say, too close to it. I, literally, cannot touch it."

Before Robert could continue the interrogation, the two approached a long line of coaches, drawn by something -- some creatures – looking like a rough cross between a dragon, a lizard and a horse.

"What in the bloody hell are those things?" Robert's jaw dropped.

"Ah, very interesting," Paolo said. "You can see the Thestrals?"

"Well, yes, of course I can see them, whatever they are. They're right there, right in front of me." Robert eyed Paolo suspiciously. "Why, can't you see them?"

Paolo shook his head. "_Fortunatamente_, no." Robert was again, completely nonplussed.

"What do you mean, 'fortunately, no'? What, are they, invisible, or something?" Paolo nodded. Robert noticed that the boy, Harry Potter, was standing next to one of these Thestrals, and was actually petting it -- stroking its long, scaly nose. Robert pointed at him. "That boy, the one I met on the train -- Harry Potter -- he can see them, why can't you?"

"Because, Bobby, I have not yet suffered ill effects from another's death. Young Harry Potter, on the other hand, has horrors in his past which are, well, most unexplainable. He has seen death, on more than one occasion, and it has scarred him severely." Paolo paused. "You can only see the Thestrals, Robert, when you yourself have met death, and have been emotionally effected by it."

Death. Over the past year, Robert had his fill of death. Leonardo Vettra, the four Cardinals, Camerlengo Carlo Ventresca, Jacques Sauniere, just to name a few. Yes, Robert mused, I most definitely have met death – know him personally, in fact.

As if purposefully breaking Robert's ruminations, a short, stocky, dark-haired young man walked up from the Thestral-drawn carriages and met Paolo and Robert at the edge of the paddock. He was wearing black, silver and green robes with a green patch over the left shoulder. The patch, Robert noticed, bore a single, twisted serpent, with the word, "Slytherin." Robert recognized him immediately.

"Blaise? Blaise Ettore Agostino Nicomedo Zabini, is that you?" Robert dropped his bag and held his arms out for the boy. "_Dio mio_, it's been so long since I've seen you! Look at you, Blaise! You make me feel like an old man!"

The boy, however, returned neither the embrace nor the smile. "Hello, Mr. Langdon. Hello, Father." Blaise shook hands with both of them.

"Hello…Mr….Langdon?" Robert blinked with mild surprise. "What happened to '_Ciao, Delfino_!' or at least a 'Hi, Uncle Bobby?'"

Blaise was unmoved. "I am not nine years old anymore, sir," he snapped. "But, it is lovely to see you again." Blaise's face showed no sign of a smile, or that he actually believed it was "lovely" to see Robert.

Just then, the girl, Hermione Granger, along with Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, walked past the front most Thestral, heading toward the carriage it pulled. Hermione caught sight of Robert, and waved heartily. Robert returned the wave.

Blaise scowled. "_Anima fangosa_," he spat. Whatever are you waving at _her_ for? Do you actually know, actually consort with that – that Granger girl?"

Robert knew enough Italian to translate that phrase. _Anima fangosa_ – _Muddy blood._ He had never heard that phrase before, at least in this context. Robert remembered that Hermione had told him her parents were Muggles. Was this some sort of quasi-racial slur? Judging from Paolo's now uncharacteristically stone-set and furiously-reddening face, it likely was just that.

"Leave, Blaise. Now." Paolo's words were sharp and steely. "I will not have you treat my friends – especially Robert Langdon -- with such disrespect! Furthermore, I shall not ever hear you use that horrible name again, whether in English or in Italian. How dare you, especially with your mother, _la vostra madre_, Blaise! Calling anyone, especially one's schoolmates _Mudblood_ is not the proper way for a Zabini to behave. Even if that Zabini was, _Dio mio,_ sorted into Slytherin House."

Silence. Without so much as a "goodbye, Father," Blaise turned on his heels and strode away, joining a group of similarly dressed boys at the edge of the paddock. After a moment, one boy, a pinch-faced lad with slicked back white-blonde hair, turned and looked at Robert with what appeared to be severe disdain.

It was as if Paolo was reading Robert's mind. "That boy – that is Draco Malfoy. He comes from a long line of, well, I will say, overly aristocratic and fanatically puristic wizards. I believe he is the reason – it is his influence that has made Blaise the complete _asino_ that he is today. I'm only sorry that you had to see him behave that way. I am also sorry that you had to see me lose my temper so, Bobby. That was not the reunion with Blaise you were hoping for, I know."

_Draco._ Interesting name. The words flooded back. O, Draconian Devil, O, Lame Saint. Robert shook the thought out of his head.

"What was that emblem on Blaise's uniform? That snake?" Robert asked, as they climbed into one of the Thestral coaches. The coach gave a great lurch, and they headed down a darkened stone path.

"That is his House symbol. Blaise is in Slytherin House."

This symbol set Robert's academic brain into full motion. "The snake," he muttered to himself, but Paolo did not hear him.

This – the serpent – interested Robert greatly. Truly, it was a unique and rather appropriate symbol of choice for a group of adolescent students. The snake had many meanings, but they were generally common to all cultures. It was one of the few symbolic animals to have such a commonality. The snake meant elusiveness or stealth. It also stood for psychic energy, elemental energy, or creative power. Perhaps most importantly, the serpent signified the water element – which also, in turn, meant immortality, rebirth, resurrection, or transformation.

Robert wondered if the students in Slytherin were placed in that House because of qualities commensurate with those meanings. If so, the Slytherins would be quite a group to reckon with. The name of the House, Slytherin, was very appropriate. Robert also wondered if the other Houses, as there must be other Houses, had symbols of equal impact and power.

Paolo continued, as if answering Robert's mental ruminations. "The school, Hogwarts, has four Houses. On the first day of school, there is, well, let's just say, a process, for sorting students into the Houses. When I was at Hogwarts, I was in Ravenclaw, and Victoria was a Gryffindor. Your friend, Harry Potter, is also in Gryffindor. So is Hermione Granger. The other House is called Hufflepuff."

"You went to Hogwarts? You slick little bastard, you told me you went to Eton!" Robert laughed at Paolo's mock-innocent shrug. "And what about Slytherin?" Robert asked.

Paolo frowned. "Slytherin prides itself on taking in and teaching only pureblood wizards, to the general exclusion of others."

"To the exclusion of those, like Hermione, born from, well, normal parents?" Robert was beginning to catch on.

"Yes," Paolo sighed. "And, like Blaise, actually. Blaise is really a half-blood. I am pureblood wizard. Victoria's a witch, no doubt, but her family is pure Muggle. She's the exception in her family. She was Muggle-born, like Miss Granger."

"But then, how did Blaise get into Slytherin?"

"We pureblood wizards, Robert, are a dying breed. If Slytherin House were to take only purebloods to this day, no one would be sitting at that left-hand table. Slytherin House would be no more. So, you see, Robert, there's no choice. Even kids like our Blaise get sorted into that House. Even though Blaise is half-blood, he has pureblood ideals, pureblood thoughts, and now, thanks to that Malfoy boy, a pureblood attitude."

Knowing the symbol, Robert knew there must be more to this House than the "pureblood attitude." Robert had met up with his share of fanatics to know that a "pureblood attitude" was an erroneous and dangerous one – and often went hand-in-hand with ideals such as immortality, stealth, and psychic power. Opus Dei, the Illuminati, the Nazi Party – these were all groups upholding a zealously puristic ideal. All were, in one form or the other, deadly.

Paolo, again seeming to sense Robert's melancholy, broke the silence. "There it is," he pointed.

Robert strained to see. "There what is?" Robert saw nothing in the distance except for what appeared to be a large, run-down and burnt-out warehouse. "I don't see anything except that old rickety building. Looks like it should be wrecker-balled!"

Robert felt a sudden wave of panic. "Oh crud! I've got a stack of essays to grade before I get back! I have to do them now! Take me back to the station! I need to get back to Boston!" He turned and began to unzip the front pocket of his suitcase, searching for the non-existent papers.

"Oh, yes. I forgot. Robert, you're a Muggle."

"What is that supposed to mean? That doesn't change the fact that I'm a tenured professor at Harvard! I have duties to perform there! Exams and dissertations to grade, students to teach! My God! I have to go!" Robert looked out the carriage toward the Thestral, looking for a driver – someone to take him back to Hogsmeade Station, immediately.

Paolo laid a calming hand on Robert's arm. "It is okay, Robert. It's just a spell. Hogwarts – it has anti-Muggle charms on it. Any Muggle that gets within visual distance of the school sees only that dilapidated old building. Furthermore, that Muggle suddenly remembers something intensely important that he has to do – so he simply leaves. Let me fix that." Paolo pulled his wand from within his robes, pointed at the old building and intoned, "_reseropatesco_!"

The warehouse morphed – literally, morphed, into a stunning building -- a castle. Robert abruptly, and rather sheepishly, realized that he was currently on a semester-long sabbatical. There were no students to teach, no papers to grade, and no real reason to go back to Boston just yet. For the second time that day, Robert's jaw came unhinged.

_Yes, Dorothy, you are in Oz….you and your little dog, Toto, too!_

"See it now? Ah, yes -- you do. I can tell. Well, there it is, Bobby. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." Paolo smiled.

"We're going – there?" Robert was mystified. "But, I thought we were going to your place! I've got my taste buds ready for Victoria's capellini pomodoro!"

"Not tonight, my friend." Paolo patted Robert hard between the shoulder blades. "I have been instructed to bring you to someone who needs most desperately to meet you."

**Chapter Four**

**6:30 pm – Hogwarts School -- Hogsmeade**

Robert's disappointment over not being able to gorge himself on Victoria's capellini pomodoro was short-lived. It was quickly blanched by a sense of awe and amazement at the building quickly looming before them. Robert craned his head out of the coach door, like a child seeing the circus, or an architecture student seeing Notre Dame or the Roman Colisseum for the first time.

The castle was immense, full of tall, sweeping archways, scattered flying buttresses, and towers that seemed to scrape the stars out of the very sky. Robert could not believe the sheer architecture of the place – it seemed like it was created by four separate designers with four separate goals in mind.

"Let me have your jacket, Robert." Paolo held out his hand.

"My jacket, why?"

"You'll need proper robes when you enter Hogwarts, especially tonight. You can keep wearing that silly, outdated Harris Tweed you always wear if you like, but if you do, you are likely to have an entire Great Hall full of adolescents and teachers staring at you."

"Yes, but, what does having robes have to do with my jacket?" At Paolo's impatient gesture, Robert began to inch out of the coat.

"I'll transfigure it for you."

"You'll what for me? Come on now, Paolo, this is an expensive piece of clothing! I actually bought this one in Scotland!"

"Well, you're in Scotland and you can get another one. Just give it to me." Robert gave Paolo his bunched up coat with trepidation. "Oh, don't worry, Robert, I can turn it back into that ugly piece of Highland apparel when you're done if you so desire."

"You'd better. That one's my favorite, too."

Paolo again retrieved his wand from within his inside robe pocket. He mumbled a latinate incantation over Robert's jacket -- a word, of course, that Robert did not recognize. Instantly, the jacket elongated, but it was still made of reddish brown tweed. The sleeves billowed outward and the elbow patches disappeared. The back of the jacket bunched up, forming a series of even, vertical pleats underneath the shoulder piece. The look of it reminded Robert of an nineteenth-century gentleman's coat.

The now robe-length tweed, starting at the collar, began turning a midnight black, the color working its way down the length of the garment as if it were soaking up a pot of black dye. Paolo picked up the robe by the shoulders, shook it out, and presented it to Robert. Robert saw that it had a shining, satin-like, bright red lining, and a silvery clasp.

Robert, as he was for most of the day, was utterly amazed. "Paolo, how did you do this?"

"Do you like?"

"Yes, I suppose I do." Robert swung the robe around his shoulders and put his arms through the sleeves. "Reminds me of my doctorate robes, only, more stylish." He fixed the clasp at his neck and smoothed out the front.

"I made the lining red," said Paolo. "If anyone asks you, you were in Gryffindor House. Knowing what you've been through the past year, and how you've braved it all, I think you'd fit in quite well in Gryffindor. I should think your friends from the train would approve. Red, Robert, is the primary Gryffindor House color."

Again, Robert couldn't help but see the meaning behind the symbolic color, and again, Robert's thoughts drifted. Red…strength, health, vigor, passion, protection, courage. On the other hand, it meant danger, warning, anger – all aspects of the fire element. Funny, Robert did see all of these qualities in Hermione, Ron, and Harry. Especially the courage and the anger – all wrapped up in Harry.

Robert wondered what the symbolic animal was for this House – Slytherin had a snake. Gryffindor must have something! A griffin? Regardless, Gryffindor was likely also a group to reckon with, and, as Robert could see thus far, it was the complete symbolic opposite of Slytherin House. Robert began to make a mental connection. Now, we have water and fire -- opposites -- the other two Houses must signify earth and air!

"Here we are," said Paolo. "Leave your case in the carriage. The Thestral will bring it to my summer home here in Hogsmeade, and Victoria will see to it when it gets there." The two men lit from the carriage. Paolo led Robert up a large staircase to a set of immense oak doors. "This way."

When Paolo opened the doors, Robert was, again, stunned. The entrance hall was expansive, with two immense staircases leading up either side. The walls were full of paintings Robert had never seen before, by artists he did not recognize. Robert could not resist but take a closer look at a large, rectangular painting of a Botticelli-like angel on the right wall.

"Paolo, this painting is beautiful! The lines of it, the symmetry, the color. I've never seen anything like it before! Who is this artist?" Robert reached out his hand, and leaned it gingerly against the painting's frame, peering in closer, soaking in the details. "This woman in the painting, she looks so incredibly lifelike!"

"Thank you very much, very much indeed." The woman in the painting batted her eyelashes and spoke in a sweet, flirtatious voice. She reached up and stroked the hand Robert rested on the frame. "You're not so bad yourself, Mister."

Robert leapt back from the painting, shaking his hand, and letting out a small, stifled yelp. "What the?" Robert turned and glared at Paolo, who was now doubled over with laughter.

"I should have warned you, my friend, with your penchant for fine art, not to go poking your nose into the works in this building. Enjoy these paintings from a distance." Paolo guffawed again. "If you touch one of them, you're liable to get your hand slapped. They're very sensitive, you know."

"They're…they're alive? These paintings, they actually talk?" Robert stammered, pointing at the Botticelliesque woman, who was now standing with her arms akimbo, an extremely annoyed look on her face. Robert looked around wildly to the other paintings lining the entrance hall. "But that's…that's"

"Impossible? No, Bobby, not here." Paolo smiled again. "The paintings even move from frame to frame. Some can even move from one of their paintings to another. You should meet Sir Cadogan. He's a real charmer."

Paolo chuckled. "You should know, Bobby, that this castle is full of wonders. You, _amico_, will be like a kid in a candy store, as you Americans say. If you continue reacting to the rest as you did to that painting, you will have _un_ _attaco di cuore_, a coronary, before the night is done. So, _Delfino_, relax, enjoy the sights, and remember, suspend your disbelief."

"Suspend my disbelief? Yeah, Paolo. Right." Robert glared at his old friend. "Remember who you're talking to here? I'm a perpetual cynic! You know, horribly jaded? Believing nothing, trusting no one?"

Paolo smirked with mock sympathy. Robert sighed. "But you're right, Paolo. I've had enough surprises for one day. I should be used to this weird stuff by now."

Paolo again put an arm around Robert's shoulder. "Just follow my lead, my friend, and you'll be just fine. Don't stare too much, and try not to look like a Muggle. Remember, you're a Gryffindor! Chin up!" Robert led Paolo up the right hand staircase.

"See, I told you he's good looking."

Robert wheeled around and saw the Botticelli woman, now in another frame near the banister. The angel was whispering to the portrait of a young, blue-eyed woman in a bright red scarf.

"I think he's the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher if you ask me. Fine choice, that one. I think he's even more dashing than Gilderoy Lockhart!"

Paolo renewed his fit of giggles. "That's quite a complement, Robert. Quite a complement." Before Robert could turn and correct the paintings, Paolo again led him up the staircase. "This, Robert, is the Great Hall."

Paolo was right. By the end of the evening, Robert was sure he was going to keel over and die from heart failure. Again, his brain had a hard time registering what his eyes were seeing. "Are those candles…are they actually floating there? And is that ceiling open?"

"Yes, and no." Paolo responded over the noise of the students' chatter. "The candles are floating, yes, but the ceiling is still there. It's just charmed to reflect the sky outside." Paolo beamed. "Such incredible memories of my first time seeing this room. I imagine I felt quite like you do right now."

"Can we go in?" Robert asked, tentatively.

"We have seats at the head table, my friend. Of course we can go in. It looks like we've missed the Sorting Ceremony, unfortunately, but the feast is about to start."

Paolo, again with Robert in tow, moved to the right side of the hall, and began walking up the aisle toward the front. As with the women in the painting, Robert kept hearing female whispers of "New Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher," and "He's cute!" and "I hope I have _him_ for my first class."

Robert noticed Hermione Granger at the closest table, and moreso, noticed that she looked particularly happy to see him. Ron Weasley and Harry Potter, on the other hand, looked quite surprised.

"I thought he was up here on holiday," Robert heard Ron whisper to Harry.

Robert leaned over Hermione's shoulders, whispered to the three, and smiled. "Change of plans, thanks to Paolo, here. So much for rest and relaxation, I guess." Ron and Harry exchanged optimistic glances.

As he rose, Robert saw a dark-skinned girl with long, plaited hair lean over to Hermione. "You know him, Hermione? He looks so -- so dreamy!"

Robert laughed when he heard Ron Weasley. "Come off it, Parvati. He's out of your league, that one. He told us on the train that he once snogged an Italian physicist, who's also a yoga master! And his last girlfriend was a French Police cryptologist, whatever that is!"

Parvati continued to stare dreamy-eyed. "I don't care! I hope I have his Dark Arts class first thing tomorrow morning!"

It took everything Robert had not to stand on a table, spread his arms and shout, "I am NOT the new Defense Against The Dark Arts teacher!" By the time Robert had his fill of the whispers, they had approached the staff table.

A wizened man with long silvery white hair and a long white beard rose from his seat at the center of the table, and stepped down the side of the dais to meet them. Again, from the rest of the staff sitting at the table, Robert heard whispers of "Defense…Dark Arts…New professor…." Robert fought the urge to roll his eyes with annoyance.

"Welcome, welcome, welcome to Hogwarts, Professor Langdon," the wizard said, his blue eyes twinkling over a set of half-moon spectacles. "I trust your trip was a good one, not too, well, overwhelming?"

Robert felt a sense of awe just looking at this man. Obviously, he was extremely wise, and extremely powerful. "Overwhelming? To say the least, but, yes, sir, I did have a good trip, thank you." Robert wasn't sure if he should offer to shake the man's hand or bow, so he did a combination of both.

"Oh, Mr. Langdon, please," the wizard laughed. "We do not stand on ceremony here. I am Professor Dumbledore, but you may call me Albus."

"Call me Robert then."

"At least, Robert, I will not call you late for dinner!" Albus let out a happy cackle of a laugh that made Robert feel instantly more comfortable. "Please, Robert, join us for the feast. It's just about to start."

Robert and Paolo walked behind the table and sat at places on either side of Professor Dumbledore. A stern-looking woman in emerald green robes sat to Robert's immediate right. "I am Professor Minerva McGonagall." She offered a hand, which Robert shook. "You are Robert Langdon?" Robert nodded. "Well, I am the Deputy Headmistress, I teach transfiguration, and I am head of Gryffindor House."

Momentarily, Robert looked past Professor McGonagall to a thin man with long, greasy black hair sitting at the end of the table. The man had a very pale, pinched face and an incredibly long, hooked nose. Robert caught his eye. The man stared at Robert for a long moment, and scowled. With a fluid motion, the man stood, billowed his robes out from behind him, and strode with seeming anger toward the table full of Slytherin students.

Professor McGonagall turned and watched the man leave. "That is Professor Severus Snape. He teaches potions, but," she whispered, "for as long as I've known him, he's desired the Defense Against the Dark Arts job." She smiled. "Am I to understand that you, Professor Langdon, are the replacement Defense…"

"No, Minerva, he is not." Albus interrupted. He then stood up at the podium, called for attention from the students, and addressed them. "In case you all are wondering, the fine gentleman to my right is not, I repeat, not, your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher." There was a collective mumble from the students.

"I regret to inform all of you, however, that the teacher I had hired to fill that position this year, Professor Juan Cortacabezca Matado, will be permanently unable to perform his duties. I have opened up a search for a replacement, and will fill that position as soon as possible. In the meantime, Mr. Zabini, here, has agreed to substitute for Professor Matado, and does so with my full and complete confidence."

"So who's the bloke with the turtleneck?" A thickly Irish-accented voice came from the Gryffindor table.

"Patience, Mr. Finnigan, patience." There was a collective laugh. "This, students, is Professor Robert Langdon. He is not here to teach. He is here on my authority to assist me with certain, shall we say, Hogwarts business. However, if Mr. Langdon requests anything of you -- anything at all -- please ensure that you cooperate with him fully and to the best of your ability. Like Mr. Zabini, Professor Langdon has my utmost trust and confidence."

Hogwarts business? If I request anything? Robert's sense of dread and foreboding at the supposed task ahead of him increased tenfold. What was he here for? What was he supposed to be doing? More importantly, what happened to Professor Matado? Robert couldn't help but wonder if Matado's apparent unavailability was more than it seemed, and unfortunately, was the likely reason he was here.

Again, Robert's thoughts were broken by an amazing sight. When Professor Dumbledore said, "That is all, students. Let the feast begin," the table in front of Robert seemed to explode with food and drink. Every coffer and every plate on the head table burst forth with an abundance of seemingly any and every kind of food possible. Robert awkwardly pulled up the sleeve of his robe, picked up a fork, and gingerly poked at a bowl of potatoes, checking to see if the food was real.

"Don't just sit there gawking at the mashed tatties, Mr. Langdon," chirped Professor McGonagall, startling Robert, "it is real food, you know! Eat. Now, before it gets cold, or you'll go hungry!"

_Suspend your disbelief_. This became Robert's mantra. _Suspend your disbelief._

In spite of the incredible strangeness of the day, Robert found himself, in the face of this smorgasbord of food, incredibly hungry. After his stomach gave a nasty growl, he dove in with relish, piling food on his plate and working it down between snippets of conversation with Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore. Paolo merely smiled knowingly during the entire meal, consuming his veal and carrots with particular relish.

As Robert was finishing a particularly sticky, but delicious, piece of what Professor Dumbledore called treacle fudge cake, Robert saw yet another incredible sight. Flying around the room in front of him were four ethereal figures. At first, Robert couldn't distinguish what they were, and thought they were merely fog or mist rolling into the room from an open window.

But, as Robert looked closer, he saw that these forms were, "Ghosts!" Robert tried with all of his might not to gape, especially with a mouthful of dessert. Robert swallowed the cake with some difficulty. "Are those really ghosts, or is this some kind of show? A trick, or illusion, or spell or something?"

"No, Bobby," said Paolo. "Those are really ghosts. They're the four House ghosts." He pointed to each one in turn. "That is the Fat Friar from Hufflepuff. That one there in the chandelier, that's the Bloody Baron, he's the Slytherin ghost. That one is the Gray Lady from Ravenclaw," he gave the Gray Lady a familiar wave as she flew by. "This one here, this is…"

"I am Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington. The Gryffindor ghost!" The ghost approached the head table, and bowed gallantly. Instinctively, Robert stuck out his hand for a shake, but quickly withdrew it when Sir Nicholas merely scowled at it.

"Oh, yeah, I guess…that wouldn't work would it?" Robert stammered. "I'm Robert Langdon."

"I already know who you are, Professor Langdon," said Sir Nicholas airily. "All of the ghosts in the castle are talking about you, wondering if you are going to replace poor old Professor Matado."

"Poor old Professor Matado?" He looked at Paolo, who merely shrugged. "No, sir," Robert said, trying to hide a rising irritation, "I am not. I am not the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher." Robert muttered to Paolo, "You'd think word would get around by now."

Sir Nicholas continued. "I presume that Professor Matado will be joining us rather soon. Just what we need around here, another Ravenclaw!" Robert saw that Paolo was making a futile attempt to hush Sir Nicholas up.

"Lucky bastard, that Matado," said Sir Nicholas. At least _he_ will be able to join the headless hunt this year. Alas, I have been turned down yet again!"

Poor Professor Matado? _Headless_ hunt? Is Professor Matado…dead? Headless? Robert's previous feeling of dread just increased again, this time not tenfold, but one-hundred-fold.

Paolo interrupted, apparently trying to distract Robert, which, unfortunately, was not working. "Yes, yes, Sir Nicholas, most disappointing, that. Robert, we call Sir Nicholas 'Nearly Headless Nick' around here. He's a right legend."

"Nearly headless? Why do they call him…" Robert's nerves drove him to take another bite of cake.

"Don't ask," said Paolo, cringing. "Please, don't ask."

But, it was too late. "Because of this!" Sir Nicholas pulled at the scruff of ghostly hair on his head and pulled to one side. His head, much to Robert's horror, pulled away from the neck and was left hanging by a thin strand of sinew.

Robert swallowed. Hard.

_Now, I've seen it all…_


	2. Second Quarter

**Chapter Five**

**9:00 pm – Dumbledore's Office - Hogwarts**

After the feast, Professor Dumbledore excused the students, instructing them to follow their respective Prefects back to their dormitories. Robert continued to sit at the head table, quite full, as he watched the students walk sleepily and satiated out of the Great Hall.

Robert sat back in his chair, and inhaled deeply. His previous fatigue was again catching up to him, exacerbated by a continuously spinning mind, and an incredibly full stomach.

"Do not get too comfortable, my friend," said Paolo. "There is still much work to do tonight. We are to meet Professor Dumbledore in his office in five minutes."

True to Paolo's word, five minutes later, Robert and Paolo arrived outside a heavy stone archway containing an immense statue of a bird. "Amazing," said Robert. A moment later, Professor Dumbledore ambled up beside them.

"Good evening, gentlemen," he gave a wan smile. "Robert, although this is horrible business for us, you should be relieved to know that you are about to find out why you have been brought here tonight." He turned toward the bird, raised his hands, and said, "Sherbert lemon."

This must have been a password, Robert thought, because as soon as the words were spoken, the great bird began to turn on its axis, revealing an immense stone spiral staircase. "This way, gentlemen," said Professor Dumbledore. "Professors Snape and McGonagall should already be in my office waiting for our arrival."

As Robert, Paolo and Albus rode the staircase up toward what Robert now saw was a large oak double door, Robert's curiosity got the best of him.

"Albus, what happened to Professor Matado? Is that why I'm here?" Robert saw flashes in his memory of the horribly mangled bodies of Jaques Sauniere and Leonardo Vettra, and wondered if another gruesome viewing was on his agenda for today.

"You will find out momentarily. I presume that when you see what is sitting on the desk in my office, you will recognize it immediately."

As the great oak doors opened, Robert immediately saw that Dumbledore was right. Robert's heart sank. "Its a Cryptex."

"I presume you have seen one before, Robert?" Professor Dumbledore crossed to the rear of the desk, and sat down. "This one here is giving us some particular trouble. Seems that none of us are able to touch it. Whenever we do, the thing gives us a great shock, and throws us backwards. Severus and I have broken many of the gadgets in my office trying to figure this thing out, and frankly, while I do not prize my possessions completely, some of these do not belong to me."

Despite the prospect of another cryptex looming before him, and the possibility of having to look at another gut-wrenchingly mangled body, Robert could not help but look around the office. It was a large, circular room lined with endless shelves carrying numerous gadgets and trinkets completely unrecognizable to Robert.

Except for one trinket. Robert looked to the right of the desk and saw, floating in what seemed to be a magnetic field, a pyramid bearing the etching of an open eye, similar to that found on the back of an American Dollar bill.

"The all-seeing eye, the Eye of Horus," Robert's breath came in short bursts. "That's . . . that's an Illuminati symbol. Are you an Illuminatus?" Robert sat down. After the events of the past year, he went from not believing a modern Illuminati existed, to believing, and right back to not believing again. Robert felt as if his resolve, his faith in his discipline, was being tested.

"Yes, Robert, it is an Illuminati symbol, and no. I am not an Illuminatus. Never was. I never got into politics, especially the politics of religion and science. I have my own strong and firm beliefs in the benefits of both to mankind. However, I was too busy teaching transfiguration at that time, and working with my partner on alchemaic problems." Robert sighed with relief. "However, that partner, Nicholas Flamel, he was an Illuminatus. That trinket was a gift from him."

"Nicholas Flamel, the French alchemist, was your… partner? Impossible! He died centuries ago."

"Did he, now?" Dumbledore smiled. "Sadly, by my recollection, he and his wife, Pernelle, passed away together only last Tuesday." Robert shook his head, and dropped it into his hands. He didn't want to know. He wasn't going to ask.

"Frankly, Robert, it was through Nicholas that I first heard about you and your particularly unique set of skills." Robert looked up. "Nicholas had quite a fondness for Muggles. He often scoured the Muggle news, and, in his reading he heard about the events at Vatican City last year. He also heard that the Illuminati had somehow resurfaced, and that it was performing evil, horrible, murderous deeds – deeds which Nicholas would never have endorsed."

"Nicholas and I talked often about you, your knowledge, your role in saving the Holy City from that horrible fate. More importantly, your role in uncovering the truth – that it was not the Illuminati, after all." Dumbledore paused. "It is because of those events, and the turns of late," he gestured toward the Cryptex, "that I asked Paolo to bring you here today. How lucky for me when Paolo told me he knew you personally, that he even studied under you! I do believe, Robert, that we are in dire need of your expertise."

Robert bit. "Okay, why am I here?"

"Well," said Dumbledore, "as I said, we are having quite a time with this Cryptex. I was hoping you could find a way to open it."

With a crash, Harry Potter burst into the room, breathless. "Professor Dumbledore? Did you tell him yet? Is he here to help us work out the proph…oh." Harry looked crestfallen when he saw that there were others in the room besides Professor Dumbledore and Robert. "Guess not."

"Stay here, Harry. We may find that we will need your assistance." Dumbledore continued explaining to Robert. "Two days ago, when Paolo called you, I had, only thirty minutes before, discovered the body of Professor Matado laying right outside the stone phoenix downstairs."

Here it comes, just as I feared. The tour and the viewing.

"Do not worry, Robert, the body is long gone now," it was as if Dumbledore read his mind. "But you must know that his head was severed, and his neck was wrapped in a blue and white Ravenclaw scarf. Professor Matado also had a dead raven clutched in his left hand. Whoever killed Professor Matado removed his head, and placed it atop this Cryptex. Strange set up, obviously leaving clues, but we can't figure out what they were other than the obvious – that Matado was a Ravenclaw."

Robert became lost in the confines of his mind. His eyes darted to the left, and he scrubbed at his mouth, searching for the symbolic memories. Thankfully, Dumbledore paused to allow Robert the luxury of uninterrupted deliberation.

Ravenclaw -- the raven -- the color blue. Blue -- strong and steadfast or light and friendly, conveying importance and confidence without being somber or sinister -- associated with intelligence, stability, unity, and conservatism. The Raven – synonymous with initiation, wisdom, eloquence, teaching. "The air sign." Robert muttered. "Water, fire and now, air…"

Robert looked up. Dumbledore smiled approvingly. "I have since cleaned the Cryptex as best I could without touching it. You can imagine the shock I got when I tried to lift it and was summarily thrown across the hallway. I had to ask our caretaker, Argus Filch, to carry it up here for me. Mr. Filch is not a wizard, you understand."

"So, let me get this straight," Robert stood and began pacing. "This Cryptex here reacts whenever a wizard picks it up, or even touches it. So, that's why I'm here – a Muggle – not only can I solve it, or so you think, but I can touch it, and therefore open it?"

"Seems only logical does it not?"

Robert gave an involuntary shiver. _This is déjà vu in the worst possible way. A mysterious call, a dead body, and a seemingly impossible series of puzzles._ This, to Robert, was rapidly becoming an irritating pattern, like an overly repetitive plot in a formulaic series of novels.

Robert crossed to the desk and examined the Cryptex. It was larger than ones he had seen in Paris, about the size of a small bucket. It was a squat, wide cylinder, made of a dark brown wood Robert believed to have been mahogany. The letter bands were wrought from a shiny, coppery metal. Unlike the Crypteces he solved with the help of Sophie Neveu in Paris, this one's rotating bands carried varying kinds of symbols, not just numbers or Roman letters.

Robert recognized some symbols as Hebrew letters, Greek letters, Cyrillic letters, mathematical symbols, and Alchemaic symbols – a true symbolic mish-mash. Robert knew that, in order to open the Cryptex, the letters or symbols on the bands must be lined up in the proper sequence. Forcing the Cryptex open would only serve to destroy the contents inside.

Robert reached out a tentative hand and poked his finger quickly at the Cryptex. Nothing happened. He then slowly laid his hand flat along the top, holding it there momentarily, waiting for a reaction. Again, nothing happened. There were still some dried bits of blood caked and etched into a symbol on the top. The symbol, Robert knew well and immediately recognized.

"A pentagram," Robert observed, tracing the design with his index finger. "Does a pentagram mean anything to any of you? I mean, it is a symbol for numerous things where I come from, but in particular to wizards, does it mean anything?" Robert could not believe he was actually asking someone else to interpret a pentagram.

Snape responded. "While Muggles think that the pentagram is a sign of witchcraft, to us it is practically meaningless. The symbol has not been used in centuries. When it was used, it was only to mark directions, like a compass. So, no. It means nothing above and beyond pretty decoration."

"Perhaps, Robert, this will help." Dumbledore produced a piece of crumpled parchment from his pocket. "This, too was found with the body. Thus far, none of us have been able to make heads or tails of it."

Robert took the paper and sat down again, studying it. At the top, in green ink, it said,

_Within the chamber lies the clue_

_To the one who gave Ravenclaw his due._

_When it remains at mid the full moon_

_Two more spirits shall be free quite soon._

Robert winced. Horrible poetry. Not even in meter. "So," said Robert. "That ups the stakes a little bit. If we can't open this Cryptex by midnight on the full moon, if I'm reading this correctly, two more will die."

"Well, now that's obvious isn't it? We didn't need a _Harvard symbologist_ to help us figure _that _out, now did we?" Snape barked. "Look out the window, Langdon! The moon is full tonight!"

Robert looked at his watch, ignoring Snape. Mickey told him it was 9:30 pm. Plenty of time. Robert continued to analyze the parchment. He saw a pattern of words written in red ink, arranged in a rough circle. As Robert turned the paper, he read the words, from left to right.

_sell him Mars a falcon bold blue due _

Robert scratched his head. "This makes no sense whatsoever." Robert turned it around again, repeating the words out loud, his focus sharpening. "But, there has to be a solution, there has to be something! Come on, Robert see it – see it. It's there, just see it!"

Before Robert could give the paper another turn, Snape grabbed it and flattened it on the desk. "Instead of you wasting time and ruminating about it, let me try -- my way -- Langdon." Snape took out his wand with a showy flourish and tapped the parchment. "Reveal your secrets."

The parchment seemed to shiver momentarily. Then, inkblots formed on the paper and bled out, forming words. Dumbledore read them.

_I shall ne'er reveal my secrets _

_to a traitor such as yourself, Snivellus._

Snape blanched, and then scowled.

"Seems our killer has a sense of humor, Severus," Professor McGonagall snapped. "Sick, but a sense of humor nonetheless."

"Snivellus?" Harry chimed. "That's what my dad used to call you, isn't it, Professor Snape?" Snape, still pale, glowered at Harry. "I mean, sorry, sir, but it's important." Robert could immediately tell there was no love lost between Severus Snape and Harry Potter.

"Yes," Snape growled. "James Potter and his 'chum,' Sirius Black, thought it funny to call me that. I, frankly, never saw the humor in it." And that, Robert thought, is why.

"Professor Dumbledore, sir. Can I please try something? This may be one of my dad's trick parchments!"

"Harry," Dumbledore sighed. "I cannot imagine how one of Sirius and James' special maps would end up beside Professor Matado's body, especially carrying such a threatening message. But, at this point, Harry, if you have an idea, go with it."

Harry pulled his wand from within his robes, tapped the parchment, and said, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good!"

As the first words emerged, Harry smiled, looking very encouraged.

_"Messrs. Padfoot and Prongs…"_

"Look! Those are Sirius and my Dad's nicknames! It must be one of my Dad's…"

Harry's elation was rudely cut off by the development of the next set of words. Harry's smile melted away, and his face went stark white.

_Messrs. Padfoot and Prongs_

_Bled and died for their wrongs_

_Mr. Moony's oe'r crippled with grief._

_Mr. Wormtail, the last, has fled from his past_

_And serves me, the Dark Lord, beneath._

The words stopped. Harry's eyes flashed as he glared at them. Robert could hear Harry's breath come in ragged hisses as the hatred and anger percolated within him. In a release of that anger, Harry grabbed at the parchment, and crumpled it in his hands as if he wanted to rip and tear at it.

"Harry, please." Professor Dumbledore pled, taking Harry by the shoulders. "We need that parchment. Please do not destroy it! I know that this -- thing -- is taunting us – taunting you -- with the deaths of your father and your godfather, but please…"

With tears streaking down his face, Harry threw the mangled parchment back down on the desk. Robert took it and smoothed it out again. As he did so, he noticed more words emanating from the paper.

_If the Potter boy's hand_

_Dares touch this parchment again_

_Or the hand of any wizard should do_

_Then this Cryptex and clue_

_With the remainder of you_

_Shall crumble and burn where you stand._

"Well," said Professor Dumbledore, "it looks now as if you're the only one who can handle this parchment, too, Robert."

The words disappeared. In their place, Robert saw something more astonishing than anything he saw all day. This was the clue to end all clues, and Robert was just the person to interpret it.

As the ink receded back into the page, coagulated and pooled around the center of the circle of words. The ink then sucked rapidly back into the page, leaving enough ink behind to form a short series of numbers.

_1.618:1_

Robert nearly screamed with joy, mingled with a repeated feeling of déjà vu. "Phi!" He beamed at Dumbledore. "That number, its Phi! That's it! That's the solution!"

"What's the solution?" Snape sneered. "What is Phi?"

"It's the Golden Ratio. 1.618 to 1. DaVinci studied and drew it, it's in nature, art, the human body…it's creation and science and perfection all rolled into one. The pentagram, Professor Snape, is based on this ratio!"

Robert took the parchment. "Can I borrow a pen?" Paolo handed him a quill off of Dumbledore's desk, and dipped it into the inkwell.

Robert took the quill and drew a perfect pentagram, starting, as they traditionally do, from the bottom left, drawing up, down, to the upper left, and the upper right. "There."

Snape leaned over and read the words in the order in which Robert had marked their path. "Langdon, this still is naught but nonsense! 'Sell him a falcon. Due mars, bold blue?' You've gotten us nowhere!!" Robert continued to scribble on the parchment as Snape kept up his tirade.

"You, a Muggle, come in here, all high-and-mighty and you think you can break this -- this code? Is that what this is, simply a word and number game to you? The full moon is tonight, Langdon! If you do not open this by midnight, there will be another death! Matado is dead, Langdon! We may have to close the school if we don't …"

Robert looked up from the paper, looked at his watch again, and smiled. 9:45 pm. "You know, Professor Snape. Just two months ago I finished a case, I guess you can call it, where a mathematician lady and myself dealt with Cryptices, and clues left in scrambled words. I'm in great practice with this kind of stuff." O Draconian Devil… O Lame Saint…

"Do you have it figured out, Robert?" Professor McGonagall was now leaning over the desk.

"Yes," he said, "I believe I do." He spread the parchment out in front of him. The rest were careful not to touch it, especially Harry. "The words, 'due mars, bold blue' Forget that they're words. Focus on the letters, instead. Unscramble them. What does it say?" Robert looked at Dumbledore.

After a long pause, Harry piped up. "Albus Dumbledore?"

"Absolutely right, Harry. And what about 'sell him a falcon?' Think about the letters, Harry. Focus on them. Think of another name."

After another long pause, "Halls…no. Coals… Michaels….no that's not it." Harry muttered, and then a smile crept across his face. "Nicholas….Nicholas Flamel!"

Robert got up and clapped a hand on Harry's back. "You're smarter than you look, Potter." Harry couldn't help but grin. "Yes, Nicholas Flamel and Albus Dumbledore." Robert turned to Albus. "Now, what do you have in common with Flamel that we could use to open this Cryptex?"

"Well, we worked together in Alchemy. We created a Philosopher's Stone together. Nicholas already had one, and we, together, repeated the process. The stone that could turn metal into gold and create the elixir of life, which would make the drinker immortal."

"You did what?" Robert stared. "Did you really? I mean, does that stone really exist?" Robert fought to stay on topic, but given this bit of news he couldn't help but digress.

"Yes, that is how Nicholas managed to stay alive for so long! Alas, however, the stone has been destroyed. Six years ago, Voldemort tried to take it from me, so that he could come back and rise to power. Young Harry here prevented that."

Robert turned his attention back to the Cryptex. "Okay, alchemy, alchemy." Robert made a mental note to ask Dumbledore about the stone again at a more appropriate time. He inspected the Cryptex again, and began to spin the dials. Paolo joined him, and began pointing out symbols stamped on the metal bands.

"Try this one. This is the symbol for gold. Or this one, for silver. This one means earth. What about the elementals? Try lining up by earth, air, fire and water."

Unfortunately, however, there was more than one alchemaic symbol on each of the bands. "Damn. This doesn't help. There must be something else, it can't be just plain alchemy." He paced behind the Cryptex, thinking. "How common is the knowledge of the Philosopher Stone's formula?"

"Very common," said Professor Dumbledore. "The trick was mixing the ingredients in the right proportion and timing. That's why Voldemort had to try and steal the stone I had, he could not duplicate what Nicholas and I had done."

"That formula, what is it?" Robert leaned over the desk.

Dumbledore picked up the quill and a sheaf of parchment. He began writing a series of symbols and names. Paolo came around the desk and looked over Dumbledore's shoulder. "Magnesium, copper, sodium, water…. It's so simple!"

Dumbledore handed the sheaf to Robert. "Try this. Line up the symbols for the elements, just like I have here."

Robert was encouraged. There were ten bands on the Cryptex, and ten elements written on the page.

With Paolo's help with the symbols, Robert slowly turned the bands on the cryptex, lining them up with a small arrow at the topmost point of the pentagram. With a pop and a hiss, the cryptex opened. Professor McGonagall gasped.

"Woah." Harry said.

Robert reached inside the top of the Cryptex and retrieved the center canister. He slid off the top of the tube, and looked inside. The room held a collective breath.

Robert sighed and rolled his eyes skyward. "Damnit! I should have known!"

"What is it, man?" Snape barked. "Out with it."

Robert reached inside the canister and pulled out the contents. It was another Cryptex – with another note. Robert unfurled the note and read it out loud.

_Brilliant of you to get this far._

_How simple, that five-pointed-star_

_A Muggle must be in your midst_

_Know this then, no lie_

_That Muggle shall die_

_With a single and passionate kiss._

When he read the words, "That Muggle shall die," Robert's voice hitched.

_Unless of course, he_

_Is more clever than me_

_And can open this puzzle anew_

_For I come in two hours_

_In fearsome great power_

_For the prophecy_ _shall ne'er come true._

_Keep vigilance! The prior clue_

_Shrewdly unraveled by you_

_Each hour is what is in store_

_For the lifeless Ravenclaw,_

_That mangled body you saw_

_Shall be joined by Hufflepuff and Gryffindor_

"But we opened it!" Harry was the first to speak. "And it still says there'll be two more deaths – one from each House!"

Except Slytherin, Robert mused. "Killers don't always keep their promises, Harry. I've learned the hard way that, sometimes, they go for the spectacular." Robert looked up at Dumbledore. "We've been lied to. This is telling us then, that even though we got that Cryptex open….there still will be two, maybe three more deaths tonight." Robert looked at the parchment again. "It seems at least one each hour, possibly including my own! I think I have a vested interest in preventing them!"

Harry spoke again. "But, it also says that Voldemort's coming." The professors in the room – with the exception of Dumbeldore -- shuddered in unison. Even Robert found a chill run down his spine at the mention of the name. "And – the passionate kiss part – he must be bringing Dementors," Harry checked his watch, "at midnight."

**Chapter Six**

**10:30 pm – Dumbledore's Office – Hogwarts **

For the next twenty minutes, Robert, Harry, Dumbledore and the others poured over the clues in the parchment.

"The clue to open this thing must be here somewhere." Robert paced, having read the poem so many times he had nearly committed it to his photographic memory. "What are the main words there?"

Dumbledore leaned over, and without touching the parchment, read, "Brilliant, star, Muggle, die, kiss…."

"No, go on. I think it's in that second stanza there."

"Clever, puzzle, power, hour, prophecy…"

"That must be it!" Robert said, "the words puzzle and prophecy occur in the same paragraph, with the threat of more deaths -- his coming in power -- between the words. That must be the key to opening the cryptex!" Robert looked at his watch. "It's now 10:30. If the poem goes as it says, there will be another death in ½ hour, so we'd better hurry. The likely victim's going to be a Hufflepuff, because that House is mentioned first."

Dumbledore stiffened, as if he were mustering up is vast resolve. He looked around the room, his eyes delving into each person in turn, including Robert. "Then we need to do all we can to ensure that nothing of the sort happens. Severus, I ask that you go inform the staff, especially those who are of Hufflepuff House – Professor Sprout, Professor Vector, and Madame Pomfrey, I believe. Gather them in the staff room and please keep them there. Watch over them, Severus. I have faith that you can guard them steadfastly, and if need be, with your life."

Snape's face hardened and he nodded curtly.

"And Minerva, please go to the Hufflepuff Common Room -- the password is "mandrake" -- and keep the students together. Take a headcount. There are seventy of them, exactly, including their Prefects, Susan Bones and Ernie MacMillan. Enlist their help if needed. The poem does not delineate between staff and students, so we must assume that even our students from Hufflepuff House will be in danger."

Dumbledore suddenly looked sad. "I cannot fathom how Hufflepuff could withstand the blow if another one of its numbers would lose a life to Lord Voldemort. The loss of their beloved Cedric Diggory three years ago still haunts many of them and many of the other students as well."

Myself included, Harry thought. Literally.

McGonagall, like Snape, showed a steely resolve in her eyes. She, too, nodded curtly, almost militaristic. Both professors turned and swiftly left the room, robes trailing in a flourish behind them.

"Paolo." Dumbledore turned. "I must first ask you to alert the Prefects and heads of Houses for Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Start with Gryffindor, that would be Colin Creevey, Hermione Granger, and the Head Boy, Ronald Weasley. Make sure that there is a teacher in every common room, and that all students and teachers are accounted for. Then please, I ask that you stand watch tonight at the front entrance to the castle. Alert Mr. Filch and Hagrid, and they will help you keep watch. No one must enter or leave the castle until we can ensure everyone's safety."

"But, Headmaster," Paolo stammered. "I would certainly be of much more help here. The symbols, the clues. I can help…"

"Paolo, please." Dumbledore all but glared over his half-moon spectacles. "Please, do what I ask of you. You are the interim Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and you have special knowledge and skills that Hagrid and Filch do not. The school will need guarding by more magic than they can provide."

"But sir!" Paolo protested again. Robert had never seen Paolo so nervous or upset before. Clearly he wanted to stay, but, why?

"I will only ask you one more time, Paolo. Please. Go." Dumbledore pointed a long finger at the door. Robert looked at Paolo with a questioning glance, and jerked his head slightly toward the door, as if to ask, 'what's the big deal, just do what he says!'

With a resigned sigh, Paolo pulled open the door, and left the room, the large oak door shutting slowly behind him. The only ones left in the expansive office were Harry, Dumbledore and Robert.

"Now that we have those tasks attended to, and some more privacy, we can get to the feat at hand." Dumbledore sat down behind his desk. "Robert, I must ask you for complete honesty and utter secrecy. Harry and I are about to divulge to you a secret that he, myself, and his two friends only, share."

Harry gave a startled look of surprise.

"Yes, Harry, I know you told Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger." Dumbledore leaned forward. Harry sat in a chair and began fidgeting with the end of his robe. "But, it is fine. I expected that you would. I presume that they have assured you complete secrecy, however."

"Yes sir. They have. And I trust them with it – with my life."

"Then, the circle remains unbroken." Dumbledore looked at Robert again. "There is a prophecy…"

"Yes, Hermione began to tell me about it on the train, but my guess is she only told me part of it."

"Yes, sir. Only the part about the power the Dark Lord knows not." Harry interjected.

"Fine, fine," said Dumbledore. "What is done is done, but what matters at this very moment is how the prophecy can provide us clues to opening this cryptex. I again, Robert, ask you for complete confidence. What is contained in the prophecy is not for the ears of those who would support the Dark Lord. If the true words of the prophecy were to fall into his hands, it could be deadly for Harry – or anyone else the prophecy may refer to."

"Harry mentioned that he wasn't sure if the prophecy referred to him or not." Robert said. "Who else could it be? What is the prophecy?"

Harry, almost in a trance-like-state, began reciting the prophecy from memory.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies. And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not. And Either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives."

Robert stood in awe. "That is a serious prophecy. So," he turned to Dumbledore, "that means then that either You-Know-Who…"

"Robert," Dumbledore interrupted. "Use his real name in front of Harry and myself. Neither of us fear it. Neither of us believe the name should be covered up with euphemisms in fear, either."

Robert continued, "either Voldemort or Harry must kill the other or die themselves." He mused for a moment. "But who thrice defied him? Who was born in the seventh month? Robert took out a piece of parchment and began writing.

"Please do not write this down, Robert." Dumbledore placed a gentle hand over Robert's writing hand. Robert slowly dropped the quill. "Both Harry and I know it well. Harry's parents, James and Lily Potter, defied the Dark Lord three times before their deaths. And Harry was born on 31st July."

"But, if Voldemort doesn't know the prophecy, how can it be the clue to this Cryptex?"

"Because he does know part of it. He knows only the first part. 'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies.' That, we believe, is why Voldemort attacked Harry so many years ago. He was trying to stop Harry from being able to vanquish him as the prophecy said. But, by doing so, he actually set the prophecy in motion. As Harry probably told you, when Voldemort attacked him, the curse rebounded, and rendered Voldemort powerless."

"Okay, then, knowing that…" Robert began pacing anew. "The key words there are, power, vanquish, thrice, defied, month, and seventh. But this cryptex is only symbols again…lots of symbols, and there are only four bands…different characters from different languages – Cyrillic, Greek, Alchemaic symbols, even Hobo signs. But no letters. How do we apply those words to this cryptex?" Robert thought hard for a moment. "The first one was alchemaic. This one must be too. We need Paolo."

Dumbledore sighed. He clapped his hands twice, and Paolo appeared with a 'pop' behind Robert.

"What the? How did you do that?"

"You called, Professor?"

"Yes, Paolo." Dumbledore said gravely. "We have need of your knowledge of alchemy again. There are six words here we are working with. Do any of them have corresponding symbols in alchemy?"

"What are the words?"

Robert recited them. "power, vanquish, thrice, defied, month, and seventh."

Paolo thought for a moment. "Is there more to the prophecy? Are there more words to work with?" He looked at Dumbledore expectantly.

"Not at this moment, Paolo. That is all we have for now, and that is all we need to concern ourselves with now."

Paolo sighed. "Yes, four of them. Power, three, month, seven." Paolo took a quill and parchment and wrote the symbols down. He handed the paper to Robert. "Are you sure there isn't more? That doesn't seem right."

"No, thank you, Paolo," said Dumbledore. "That is all. Please return to your duties. I presume Hagrid and Filch will be waiting for you at the main door by now."

"Are you sure?" Paolo asked again.

"Quite." With that, Dumbledore clapped his hands again, and Paolo vanished with another 'pop."

Robert shook his head. "I'll never get used to that." Regaining his senses, Robert lifted the sheaf of parchment. "Let's try it." He picked up the cryptex and began rotating the coppery bands. First, power. The band clicked into place, an encouraging sound. Then, three. Click. Month. Click. Seven. Click.

The bands on the cryptex whirred and spun wildly, and the cryptex shook violently in Robert's hands. Robert dropped it to the floor, where it rolled toward the door. When it came to rest, it glowed an iridescent green for a moment, and the light faded slowly. Robert and Harry crossed to the door and bent over, staring at the now lifeless cryptex.

"Pick it up." Harry said, questioningly.

Robert did. He momentarily fumbled with the endcaps, and tried to push the center open. "Damn," he said.

"What," Dumbledore was breathless.

"Didn't open." Robert sighed. "That didn't work. Wrong clues, we've been misled again."

Dumbledore sank heavily into his chair. Harry looked expectantly between Robert and Dumbledore. "What do we do now? How do we open it?"

"We start over. We try again," Dumbledore said.

Both Harry and Robert walked slowly back to Dumbledore's desk. Robert looked at his watch. "It's 10:59. We're out of time. But, let's have another look at that…"

A bloodcurdling scream rent the end of Robert's sentence, and an eerie silence followed. All three remained in rapt attention, eyes on the doors. As the great oak doors slammed open, Dumbledore, Robert and Harry all shot to their feet.

Minerva McGonagall stood in the doorway, panting, her chest heaving, and visibly frightened. Her hair was pulled out of her otherwise neat bun, her hat was askew, and her emerald green robes had dark, reddish stains along the hemline and sleeves. There was a slash of bloodstain across her chest and a kiss of blood on her left cheek.

"Albus! Albus! There's been another murder! Come, come quickly!" She began sobbing. "It's Professor Vector, Albus, she's….she's dead! Oh, Albus, it is so horrible!"

Dumbledore pushed off from his desk with a youthful bound that Robert never thought he would see in a man his apparent age. "Where, Minerva. I thought she was with…"

"Severus said she wasn't in the teacher's lounge. He searched the entire castle for her. He found Professor Sprout and Madame Pomfrey, but Professor Vector was nowhere to be found! She wasn't in her quarters, wasn't in the Hufflepuff common room, and wasn't in her classroom! He tried, Albus, but he couldn't find her and couldn't protect her!" She sobbed anew. "Severus is beside himself with anger, and grief, and regret…"

"Minerva, I blame neither you nor Severus. There is no need for guilt, no need for regret. Whoever is behind these murders, I now see will go to any lengths to carry them out. It very well may be that we will not be able to protect anyone." Dumbledore opened the oak doors. "Minerva, you must show me where she is, show me Professor Vector. Robert, given the clues left with Professor Matado's body, perhaps you should come along."

"What about me?" Harry asked. "What should I do?"

Dumbledore gently, fatherly, placed his hands on Harry's shoulders and looked deep into his eyes. "You must return to your common room, Harry. There should be a teacher in there, I assume it is Madam Hooch?" He looked at Minerva, who nodded affirmatively. "Go there. Help Madam Hooch, Ron, Colin, and Hermione. Protect your classmates and those in the classes younger than you. Not only do I need you there, with them, Harry, but your life is too important. You, of all people, must be protected at all costs. Do you understand me? I do not want the Gryffindor in the poem to be you."

Harry was reluctant to leave, but understood. He nodded. "Yes, Headmaster." He turned and walked out the door.

Minerva led Robert and Dumbledore out of the office. The three followed Harry back to the Gryffindor common room, and breathed a sigh of relief as Harry gave the password, "flobberworm," and entered behind the portrait hole. Robert could hear other students asking Harry what was going on, where he'd been, why were they all there, and why did he have teachers with him?

The portrait hole closed. If Robert was in any other situation, on any other day, he would have taken the time to admire the painting of the fat lady guarding the Gryffindor common room. But as circumstances warranted, his attention was drawn violently elsewhere.

"This way," said Minerva. "I found her in the Arithmency hallway as I was doing my patrol." The three walked at breakneck speed through numerous hallways and up two flights of stairs, one of which, to Robert's astonishment, moved as they were standing on it.

They lit from the staircase and stepped onto a large landing. Behind a series of columns Robert saw a large, slumped pile on the floor. "Is that her?"

Minerva sobbed again. "Yes. She's there." She pointed.

Robert and Dumbledore left Minerva and strode over to Professor Vector's lifeless body. What Robert saw horrified him. Moreso than any of the murders of any of the Vatican Preferitti Cardinals he saw a year ago.

"Minerva, please go inform the Hufflepuff prefects, and Professor Sprout."

Professor McGonagall left without a word and headed back down the moving staircase.

Professor Vector was a slight woman with long, auburn hair, and from what Robert could see – as her head was turned to the side and she was on her stomach -- brown, sullen eyes. From the immense pool of blood around her body, Robert immediately surmised that she had bled to death. As Robert surveyed the body, he did not immediately see any trauma to her body, evidence of injury – that is, until he and Dumbledore turned her over.

As Professor Vector was now lying on her back, Robert saw the exact cause of death. It was exsanguination all right, but the cause was her hands being severed from her arms, just above the wrist. The remaining stumps of her arms were tied in front of her with a bright yellow cord. Robert could feel the bile rise in his throat, and a wave of nausea overtook him momentarily.

He looked further down her body and noticed that her feet had also been tied with the same yellow cord. Whoever did this, cut off her hands and left her immobile so that she could only bleed to death where she lay, and could not run for help.

Robert looked above Professor Vector's head, and saw her hands. They were clasped together, seemingly in prayer. But, they were holding something….the tail of something – a furry animal of some sort.

Dumbledore stepped gingerly over Professor Vector's middle, and walked to the spot where the animal lay. "It's a badger, and it is dead, as well." He stood up. "I fear we have our Hufflepuff death. The badger is the Hufflepuff animal."

Still wracked with nausea, Robert backed away from the body, leaned against a column, and sank down slowly. Again, his mind started reeling with the symbols that lay before him. A badger, the color yellow – symbols of Hufflepuff House.

"Yellow," Robert mumbled. His mind continued reeling. That color – it has conflicting symbolism. On the one hand it denotes happiness and joy, but on the other hand it's the color of cowardice.

Robert remembered that yellow ribbons were worn as a sign of hope as women waited from their men to come marching home from war – abiding love and loyalty. The badger, too, carried great symbolic meaning…passion, perseverance, control, earthiness, groundedness, wisdom.

The meanings in both the color yellow and the badger – loyalty, earthiness, happiness…led Robert to one conclusion. The earth element.

Robert's head was now swimming in symbols and meanings. Slytherin – water; Gryffindor – Fire; Ravenclaw – Air; Hufflepuff – earth.

Air -- Ravenclaw – Professor Matado's _head_ – brains, intelligence, intellect, strategy, wisdom.

Earth -- Hufflepuff – Professor Vector's _hands_ – earthiness, work, dedication, the hands are the Irish symbol for loyalty.

Fire -- what would the Gryffindor death be? The _heart_? Would the killer's methodology be so gruesome as to rend the next victim's heart from his very chest? After what he just heard and what he just witnessed, Robert believed strongly so.

Robert's irritation and aggravation grew. He felt helpless, useless to figure all of this out. It must mean something! Robert wracked his brain. But what? Why murder one from each House? Why faculty members? Why these cryptices? What could someone, Voldemort, presumably, possibly want so badly that he is killing – systematically – playing these games for it? If Voldemort wanted Harry so badly, why kill these others?

Robert buried his head in his hands, and raked his fingers through his graying hair. He rested his elbows on his upturned knees. He was tired, sick, and the guilt was beginning to rack at him. This death could have been prevented, he thought, if he had only been able to open that cryptex. How could he have been so blind? How could he have been so horribly misled?

"We have all been misled, Robert," Dumbledore said. "Do not take the blame all on your own. It is not yours to carry. Don't worry, we still have time. There is one more death to prevent. I should be most grateful if no one from my own House, Gryffindor, should die tonight." Dumbledore knelt beside Robert, and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Come now, let's give that puzzle another try."

Robert looked at his watch. It was now 11:35. He knew that if he didn't engage his brain soon, Dumbledore, and another House, would be in mourning again in a mere twenty five minutes.

**Chapter Seven**

**11:45 pm – Dumbledore's Office - Hogwarts**

After Mr. Filch arrived to take care of Professor Vector's remains, "Oh, good lady. Ever so strict with the wretched students. Sniff. May she rest her immortal soul…," Dumbledore and Robert returned to Dumbledore's office. They spent the next ten minutes debating, throwing ideas back and forth about how to open the cryptex and hopefully, stop the killings.

The clue said that Gryffindor would be next to suffer. Even in his short time at Hogwarts, Robert had taken a keen affinity to this particular House.

Perhaps it was the symbolism, the color of his own robe lining, or the trio he met on the train. Perhaps it was the dedication of the Gryffindor man sitting at the desk in front of him. It was bad enough that there were two other Houses hurt by this tragedy. Robert did not think he could bear to see the Gryffindors so afflicted.

Robert continued to pace the office in front of Dumbledore's desk. "There must be something." Robert looked at his watch. Time was flying at incredible speeds now…and it was not cooperating with them at all. "11:55. Unless we solve this now, we're out of time."

Just as it happened an hour prior, Dumbledore and Robert were stunned by a loud bellow from just outside the door. "Murder! Murder most foul!" It was Paolo this time.

Paolo wrenched open the door. He, like Professor McGonagall, was panting and sweating. "Gryffindor… Professor Dumbledore, there's been another murder…but now the body's gone! We've started to search the castle, but nothing…no sign of him!"

Robert's biggest fear had just come true. Another murder, another body, another death he could have prevented.

Just as one hour before, Paolo led Professor Dumbledore and Robert to the hallway in front of the Defense Against the Dark Arts Classroom. He pointed. "There. There it is."

It? _Uh oh_. This can't be good. The place where Paolo pointed was a jumbled mess. Each of the items in the pile was covered with blood. There was a red and yellow scarf, a bloodstained, tattered and patched robe, a Gryffindor robe patch, and a briefcase that read, "Professor R.J. Lupin."

"Lupin," said Dumbledore, "My God, no…" He fell to his knees and knelt beside the briefcase, his eyes traveling all over the evidence. Robert saw Dumbledore freeze, staring in one spot, his eyes widening in horror. "Robert, look here." He pointed.

Robert walked over and looked. On the floor was a large, shining and fresh pool of blood. But it was no ordinarily pool of blood. This was a pool of blood in the shape of a heart. Yes, thought Robert, I was right…with Gryffindor, the murderer went for the heart. The furnace of the body…the fire sign. "There's no animal here."

"That," Professor Dumbledore said, "is because the Gryffindor symbol is much larger than a raven or a badger. It would seemingly be impossible to drag a dead lion through the halls of Hogwarts."

Lion, thought Robert. That makes sense. It goes hand in hand with the symbology of the color red and the fire sign. Family ties, strength, courage, resolve, energy, ferocity. The lion.

There was a long pause. Paolo was the first to speak. "Robert, its time to get you out of here. That poem has certainly lived up to its threats thus far."

"But what about the dementors or whatever those things were that Harry was talking about?"

"It is now midnight, Robert, You-Know-Who is coming, and I for one do not want him to live up to his threat to bring a dementor in to perform the kiss on you…it is horrible. It is not a means to kill you, dementors suck out your soul and leave you alive, but an empty shell."

Suck out your soul -- Robert did not like the sound of that. "Where do I go?"

"Professor Dumbledore," said Paolo. "I know where to take him…the place where Lupin used to go. Let me take him there, Dumbledore, it is safe there."

Dumbledore nodded in agreement. "It is now up to me to protect the school, and up to you, Paolo, to protect Robert. But he must solve that cryptex. It is still vital, and I expect you will let me know when he does."

Paolo nodded. "Come, Robert." Robert followed Paolo down the hallway, and down the main stairs. They went past Hagrid and Mr. Filch and exited through the front oak doors, hearing them close solidly behind them. "This way."

Paolo led Robert a short distance away from the castle. Robert was silent throughout the walk, his mind on the cryptex and on the possibility of his own impending death. "Robert, you will be safe in this place," Paolo said.

They were standing before a huge, grayed willow tree with immense, elephant-leg main branches, ending in huge knarled knots. Robert got the idea that the tree somehow sensed their presence – and did not like it one bit. The great branches began swaying and moving voluntarily, as there was no wind to move them. The closer they came, the more violent and deliberate the tree's movements became.

"Here? With this tree? Safe? Its moving by itself, Paolo! I don't think so." Robert began to tremble with renewed fear. "What the hell is that?"

"That is the Whomping Willow. It was planted here years ago, in part to protect the castle and in part to protect the students. It's a real fixture around here. Treat it with respect, and it'll treat you with – er – respect."

"What am I supposed to do, bow to it?" Robert snapped.

"No," Paolo replied, ignoring the brewing sarcasm. "you're going _inside_ the tree – well, under it. Watch and learn." Paolo picked up a branch and poked it at a small knot at the base of the tree's gargantuan trunk. Immediately, the tree stopped moving and stood rock still. "Come with me."

Paolo led Robert to a small, rounded bit of root at the tree base. Paolo knelt down and pushed the top of the root aside, revealing a small opening. "Go on in there," he pointed. "At the base of the opening is a door. Go on inside. It's the passage to a secret place called the Shrieking Shack."

"The Shrieking …" Forget the weird name, Robert was paying more attention to the frighteningly miniscule opening -- his ingrained claustrophobia kicking in again at full strength. Robert peered down into the dark shaft, recalling a frightening incident when, as a child, he fell hundreds of feet into an abandoned well and had to tread water for five hours before finally being rescued.

"Yes, Robert, ignore the name. It's for local color only. It's perfectly safe. And yes, Robert, the hole is big enough. You won't get stuck, and there's no water to tread at the bottom." Robert looked unsure. Paolo grinned sympathetically. "Trust me, _amico._"

I can do this. Robert stirred up what was left of his courage. I can do this. No fear. No fear. No fear. It's not a well. It will lead to an open room. "Okay, what do I do when I get in there."

"Stay in there. Work on the cryptex – get the thing open and get the clue inside. If you open it, knock on the door three times. That will send a signal to Dumbledore's office and I will come and get you immediately – literally, immediately. Make sure you close the passage door, and any other doors, behind you." Robert gave him another wary look. "Robert! Believe me, you will be safest in here. We don't want you exposed when You-Know-Who gets here."

Robert nodded absently. He crouched down, mustered up his resolve again, and hung his legs in the shaft opening. No fear, no fear, no fear… Paolo gave his shoulders a slight push, and Robert went careening down the stone slide, feeling the slick, slimy walls against his open palms. Memories of falling into the abandoned well careened just as quickly through his now panicked mind.

As soon as it began, however, the ride ended. This time, much to Robert's relief, it did not end with a cold, wet splash. Instead, Robert felt his feet touch a soft, cushiony, spring-supported surface. A mattress? The room around him was pitch black with the exception of a chink of light at the far side.

The room smelled strongly of musty fabric, and damp earth. The air was equally as damp. Robert stood and ran his hands over the stone walls. They, like the walls of the entrance slide, seemed to be lined with a wet, spongy moss or lichen. Robert walked toward the light, entered the room, and, as Paolo instructed, shut the door behind him.

The shack around Robert looked as haunted as the locals probably thought it was. It reminded him of a fun house he had gone through on a dare at the end of a particularly disastrous date with a particularly dangerous woman ten years his junior. But this time, the dust was not sprinkled there purposefully, the smells were not pumped in, and the cobwebs were not made of spun fabric, or the spiders plastic. The grim features in this haunted house were real.

The rooms and hallways were dimly lit with what looked like blue-flamed torches. The wallpaper was peeling away in great sheets, and was covered by a blue-gray soot. Spider webs in every corner shone in the little moonlight that streamed in from the dingy windows. Robert looked down. The wainscoting was stained with damp and what appeared to be a black, slimy mold. Not a healthy place. Should be condemned, or at least fumigated.

Robert headed up the stairs. As he walked, he saw footprints in the dust. Strange footprints, these. Two sets. One, a pair of shoes, the other looked like that of an animal, like a dog or a lion. Whoever lives here must have a pet, or something. Great, Robert sighed. Now I'm going to be dog-sitting.

As Robert reached the top landing, he heard a voice. Mumbling. Incoherent. "Hello?" The voice was coming from what looked like be former master bedroom. "Hello, is anyone in here?" The mumbling now combined with loud, raspy breaths. "Hello?"

Robert pushed the door open. The room was dark save for a small sliver of moonlight coming in through a slime-covered open window. As Robert entered the room, he heard the distinct sound of chains rattling. He took a step further inside.

Woosh! Crash! The door behind him shut with a whistle and a loud slam. Robert jumped what felt like a mile, clutching at his heart. I'm going to have that coronary yet, he thought. Robert turned, clasped his hand over the doorknob, and turned. The knob would not budge. "What the hell!" He tried again. Still, the door remained firmly locked. "Oh, no…"

The breathing from the corner of the room became even more jagged, full of rage, animalistic. The chains rattled harder, as if whatever was attached to them was straining and pulling. Robert even thought he heard the distinct 'creak' of a chain beginning to pull away from its mooring.

"Uh, hello? Who's there?"

The only response was a deep, bloodthirsty, threatening growl.

Robert's adrenaline kicked in full power, and his mind went into a complete panic spin. What the hell is that thing and why am I locked up with it? After the initial adrenaline rush came the innate flight or fight reflex. Neither flight nor flight, however, was an option. "Oh, my God. I'm dead. I am completely dead."

There was a window to Robert's immediate right where the moon's rays peeked in through the closed curtains. Although Robert did not really want to, he had to see exactly what he was facing – even though the cryptex in his hand was his only weapon. He inched, carefully, over to the window, and threw open the curtains.

All Robert could do was plaster himself against the wall in sudden and abject fear. The cryptex was still clutched in his hand. He felt it start to slip as the sweat accumulated commensurate with his fear and panic.

"My God! My God! What….what…" Robert's eyes darted around the room, his terror and dread increasing exponentially, along with the amount of sweat now pooling around his brow and his turtle neck collar.

In sheer desperation, Robert turned and tried to throw open the window sash. No good. It was painted shut. He fumbled with the lock. No good. He patted his hands against the window glass, it seemed normal enough. What now? Break it. Break the glass. But, how?

Robert again looked around the room, searching for a blunt instrument – something, anything! Then, his eyes fell upon the cryptex in his hand. Damn this thing, he thought. I need to get out of here. He pummeled the glass with the puzzle, trying desperately to shatter the window. The cryptex merely bounced off, over and over and over, with not so much as a crack in the window. With the last whack, the cryptex rebounded, smacking Robert full on the nose.

Robert grunted and hunched over in pain, covering his offended nose with his hands. "Oh, ow!" Robert tasted blood. "Crap! I've gotta get out of here, but how!" He looked again at the thing in the corner. The beast was now seething, saliva forming in great, frothy-white drips at the corners of its mouth. "Blood….its smells blood. Just great." He started inching back toward the door, pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand.

The thing before him was immense. In Robert's panic stricken estimation, the thing was a combination of a wolf, a dog, and…something. It had a short, stubbly coating of mangy gray fur -- rounded, haunting yellow eyes, triangular ears, and fangs – oh God, those fangs -- huge and bloody, dripping with saliva. This thing, whatever it was, was hungry – deadly hungry. Robert was in no mood to become its next meal. The thing ran forward and pulled taut on its chains again, missing Robert with its mammoth front claws by mere inches.

Robert tried the door again. Pulling, yanking, pounding, shoving, turning, kicking, yelling, cursing, all to no avail. Then he remembered what Paolo had told him.

Knock three times.

Knock, knock, knock. Paolo said he'd come immediately. Knock, knock, knock. He tried again, and again, and again. No Paolo. "Immediately, Paolo, immediately! Come on, Paolo!" Robert turned and looked at the beast again. His eyes quickly flashed over it, and his gaze landed on the floor beneath. What he saw increased his horror. Robert's heart gave a sickening jolt, and his stomach flip-flopped.

On the floor, next to the chain mooring, was a large hourglass. The glass was demarcated by minutes, from two hours to one minute – a wizarding timer. From what Robert could see of the glass contents, there was only about three minutes left. The hourglass, in turn, was attached to the chain. If the hourglass were to empty and turn, it appeared, the chain would be released. "I'm in big, big trouble."

In a moment of fear-induced insanity, Robert wished desperately that he could just click his heels together and say _"there's no place like home, there's no place like home_" and get the _hell_ out of Oz.

Robert turned and knocked again – three times. Still, no sign of Paolo. "Where is he?"

"All that knocking will get you nowhere, Professor Langdon, and it is rather irritating." Robert froze, his eyes growing large. The voice was crystal clear, human, and extremely intelligent.

Robert wheeled around. "Who said that?"

"I did." The voice came from the corner, the same place as the creature. "Me, over here."

"Who are you?"

"In this form, I'm a werewolf. In my human form, I am Professor R.J. Lupin, one of the former teachers from Hogwarts."

"Lupin? I thought you were dead. The Gryffindor death…"

"A clever ploy by the one who murdered the others, knocked me out, and brought me here."

"Who did that?"

"Sadly, I don't know. But it is a full-moon tonight, and, on nights such as this, if I don't get my wolfsbane draught, I, unfortunately, become very dangerous."

"But, how…how can you be talking to me?"

"Because I actually did take my wolfsbane tonight…but it's been tampered with," said Lupin, his breath now becoming ragged, "weakened, diluted. It is supposed to numb my human senses and memories, and tame the beast, leaving me essentially stupid and harmless." Lupin growled involuntarily.

"However," Lupin continued. "neither has happened. It has been strange. I've never been coherent, never had my wits about me as the wolf before. However, this state of sentience has fluctuated greatly all night. In fact, I feel I will be losing myself yet again very shortly, Professor Langdon."

Robert actually saw Lupin – saw the man -- within the beast's feral yellow eyes. "If you don't get out of here by the time this hourglass empties, I fear that I will likely kill you. I don't want to, but if I am not in my right mind, I will."

"So then, Lupin, we'll just have to keep you in your right mind, then."

"I…believe…" Lupin struggled to speak, producing more ragged breaths, the words turning into growls, "that…may…prove… im…im….impossible." The sentence ended with a sickening, loud gurgle. "You must…you must leave, NOW!" Two minutes.

"I can't!" Robert shouted, "the door locked behind me and I can't break the glass! I'm stuck in here with you! So, stay with me, Lupin! Listen to my voice! What's your first name?"

More ragged breaths. Lupin's chest was heaving now. "Re…Remus!"

Appropriate name for a werewolf – quite fitting. "Okay, Remus. Call me Robert. Stay with me now….maybe if you think about something….help me with this cryptex here! I need to open it. Whatever is in it may just save the school and everyone in it. There's a poem clue. Let me read it to you. Just keep focused on it."

"Not…sure…if I can!"

"Try! Focus! Fight!" Robert quickly explained the previous cryptex, and its solution. He then read the new poem aloud to Remus.

_Brilliant of you to get this far._

_How simple, that five-pointed-star_

_A Muggle must be in your midst_

_Know this then, no lie_

_That Muggle shall die_

_With a single and passionate kiss._

_Unless of course, he_

_Is more clever than me_

_And can open this puzzle anew_

_For I come in two hours_

_In fearsome great power_

_For the prophecy_ _shall ne'er come true._

_Keep vigilance! The prior clue_

_Shrewdly unraveled by you_

_Each hour is what is in store_

_For the lifeless Ravenclaw,_

_That mangled body you saw_

_Shall be joined by Hufflepuff and Gryffindor_

"Dumbledore and I have talked about it, and we think it has to do with what You-Know-Who knows about the prophecy. But that didn't work. We need another approach, another angle."

"Its….it is so….obvious, Robert. The…the Houses." Remus breathed, still fighting. "Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Gryffindor…Slytherin. The clue… must be in… the Houses."

Robert could sense Remus was teetering on the edge of sanity. As Robert tried again to engage his brain, to work out the clues, he heard a howling in the distance. Remus, involuntarily, answered with a loud, ear-splitting wail.

Robert ducked, covering his hears. Maybe he's right! The clues. We've been misled again! They're not in the prophecy, the clues are in the murders! The symbols left there by the bodies! The raven, the badger, the lion….blue, yellow, red.

"Air, earth, fire….water! That's it! Remus, you're a genius!"

Remus answered only with a muffled growl. He was gone again, his mind replaced by that of the creature. One minute remained on the timer.

Robert fumbled with the cryptex. There were four bands, four sets of symbols. Robert held the cryptex under a chink of moonlight, and lined up the symbols, top to bottom. Air…earth…fire…water.

Thankfully, the cryptex popped open. Robert glanced at the hourglass. Thirty seconds.

With a sinking feeling of dread mixed with disappointment, Robert pulled out the contents and held it up under the moonlight. Inside the cryptex was a vial of greenish blue liquid, somewhat translucent. It gave off an eerie glow.

Lupin growled again, as if fighting to regain consciousness. "That's wolfs….wolfsbane! Give it to me…growl…give it to me… growl, breath… NOW!" Lupin lunged forward and swiped his paw at Robert, the nails almost contacting Robert's chest.

"How?" asked Robert, "You'll take a chunk out of me if I get anywhere near you!"

"Roll it here. Quickly!" Ten seconds.

Robert complied. The vial rolled toward Lupin. It then rolled down a broken piece of floorboard, out of Lupin's reach. Lupin gave a roar of frustration, Robert yelled, "Damnit!" Five seconds.

"What do I do?" Robert eyed the room, desperate for a stick or a pole, or something to move the vial toward Lupin.

"Nothing!" Lupin yelled, sounding more human again. "I've… never tried this… without a wand… but I have… no… choice." Lupin brought himself up on his hind legs and pointed a razor sharp claw at the wolfsbane. He mustered up every ounce of humanity he had left in him. He intoned, clearly, "_Accio, wolfsbane!_"

The vial shot up from the floor. Lupin caught it between his two front paws. Two seconds. He crushed the vial, and licked hungrily at the substance now dripping down his paws and forelegs.

With a great creak, the chains gave way, releasing the werewolf. Lupin let out a deafening roar, his paws curled, the liquid still dripping, and his claws fully extended. Lupin lunged toward Langdon in a full pounce. All Langdon could do was duck and cover, waiting to feel the cut and tear of the immense talons in his vulnerable flesh.

Instead, Robert felt a rush of air against his bare arms, and heard a sickening thud. Robert looked up, his arms still curled around his face in a protective posture. The werewolf had fallen to the ground in a heap, and had changed back into a man.

Robert shuddered, exhaling an enormous sigh of relief. He swallowed, struggling to catch his breath. Another near miss. He relaxed his arms, sat up straight, and sank his head into his hand, his breaths still forced.

The man slowly lifted his head, and pushed himself up on his weakened elbows.

Robert stood up tremulously, and offered his hand to the man. "Professor Remus Lupin, I presume?"

"Yes," Lupin said weakly, as he stood. Robert saw in the moonlight that Lupin was for the most part, naked. "In the, er, flesh, unfortunately – amazingly."

Robert reached behind him and pulled one of the curtains from the window. "Here, wrap yourself in this."

"Thanks. Are you okay, Robert?" Lupin stared in amazement at his now human hands. "It's not supposed to do that," he muttered under his breath.

Robert did not hear him. "Yes, I'm fine. Still a little shaken up, but fine. I thought for a second there I was going to be wolf chow." Robert forced a small laugh.

"I'm sorry for that." Lupin sounded morose, still inspecting his hands and arms, and pulling his -- now significantly smaller – arms out of the wrist chains. He pulled the neck chain easily over his head and threw it to the floor.

Robert shrugged. "What happened? How did you get in here? Did anyone know you were in here?" Robert thought of Paolo, wondering to himself if he knew, but then shrugged it off. Paolo wouldn't have brought him here if he knew there was a werewolf.

"I don't know, but I wish I did." Lupin answered. He picked a large chunk of glass out of his mouth, and flicked it at the floor. "I was on my way to Dumbledore's office to see if I could be of assistance with the Cryptex. Next instant, I am laid out here, on the floor of the Shack, and there are chains around my ankles and my neck. There was a glass of wolfsbane in front of me. I drank it but it tasted odd, as if it had been watered down." Lupin coughed, and fished out yet another piece of glass.

"Obviously, it was," Robert said. "Obviously, whoever brought you here wanted you to change, to be dangerous enough to kill, but sane enough to realize, and maybe regret, what you did. And," Robert continued, looking at his watch, "whoever it was, wanted you loose at exactly ten minutes after midnight."

"I have no idea." Lupin's eyes flashed with sudden anger. "But I do not appreciate my…my _affliction _being used in this manner! I do not take kindly to being used as a weapon. I was used as such only once before, and I let James and Sirius know never to do it again. Whoever did this, knows me, and knows me well."

Robert recalled the first poem. "James Potter and Sirius Black?" Robert asked. "Is that Mr. Prongs and Mr. Padfoot?"

"Yes, my best mates from school. Prongs and Padfoot, but they're both…."

"Dead now, right?"

Remus' eyes looked suddenly sad. "Yes."

"So, you must be…Mr. Moony?"

"Yes. How did you know?"

Robert told Lupin about the first poem on the parchment, having committed it to memory.

_Messrs. Padfoot and Prongs_

_Bled and died for their wrongs_

_Mr. Moony's oe'r crippled with grief._

_Mr. Wormtail, the last, has fled from his past_

_And serves me, the Dark Lord, beneath._

"Merlin's Beard!" Lupin swore. "Not too many people know about those names, Robert. Wormtail, maybe Voldemort knows about, but the rest of us?"

"You use his real name?"

"Yes," replied Remus. "Fear of the name only increases fear of the thing itself. There's no sense in mincing words. I only say You-Know-Who in front of other wizards. Can't stand the wincing and shuddering each time I say Voldemort!" Lupin continued. "Unless Wormtail told him – Wormtail's our other, well, former friend, Peter Pettigrew, but he turned traitor…" Lupin slumped to the floor. "He must know, then!"

"Know what?"

"Voldemort. He must know that James and Sirius were animagi, and he must know about my lycanthropy!"

"Animagi?" Robert joined Lupin on the floor.

"Wizards who can turn themselves, transfigure themselves into animals at will. Peter, Sirius, and James learned the magic for me…to keep me company during these monthly transformations. Peter became a rat, Sirius a dog, and James a stag. Thus the names."

Lupin seemed lost in thought. "Dumbledore knows. Harry knows. Hermione and Ron, too, but they'd never do anything like this, set me up this way. Even Snape knows, but as nasty as he is, would never do anything for Voldemort again. He is on our side."

Again? Robert felt a slight chill, remembering the words from the parchment. "_A traitor such as yourself, Snivellus…"_

But," Lupin continued, "if Wormtail told his master, that would explain things a little better. Someone working for or with Voldemort must know I'm a werewolf, and brought me here to..."

Robert understood. "To kill me. Whoever did this thought we'd never solve the Cryptex -- because of the misleading clues. More importantly, this person wanted leave you with the memory of doing it – cutting me to bits. But, the question remains. Why?"

Lupin shuddered, and got shakily to his feet. "Let's get out of here."

**Chapter Eight**

**12:30 am – Hogwarts Grounds**

It took a few moments for Lupin to regain full use of his reborn human legs, especially after standing for nearly two hours on what would have been the balls of his human feet. Lupin's legs were obviously wobbly and unsteady. Robert felt a great wash of sympathy for this man. Obviously, the transformation was painful, and it drained him utterly and completely. Thankfully, Robert thought, Lupin had his wolfsbane potion to, apparently, ease the suffering and soften the transformation each month.

"Wolfsbane," Robert muttered.

"What?" Lupin asked. "What about the wolfsbane?" Lupin began searching the room. As his legs were still not fully cooperating, Lupin's gait was now stiff and ungainly, not unlike that of an aged man.

"How do you get it – I mean the wolfsbane -- each month? Is it something you make yourself?"

Lupin shook his head. "No, Severus Snape – he's the potions master – he makes it for me. I've never had the ability with brewing potions that he does, and it is admirable. Wolfsbane potion is very complicated and rather messy to brew. In fact, when I taught here, years ago, Severus brewed it for me by the cauldronful, which was not an easy task. That wolfsbane too, the stuff in the cylinder there…it was especially potent, it seems."

Lupin sighed. "As much as we despise each other, I owe Severus so much, and I do not deserve any of it. In fact, I was on my way to Severus' dungeon to get my second dose for this evening -- I need two throughout the night -- when I was apparently ambushed."

"Strange, we all thought you had been killed – that you were the Gryffindor referred to in the poem. Your cloak and case and scarf – they were all bloodstained, and there was a pool of blood on the floor."

Lupin turned and showed Robert the inside of his arm. "I imagine whoever did this took the blood from there." Lupin pointed to an angry-looking gash in the crook of his left elbow. "As I was not free to roam tonight – and consequently to get in any scrapes or fights -- I can think of no other way that I would have obtained this sort of injury. Furthermore, this cut looks almost surgical, intentional."

Lupin turned his back to Robert and crouched down in the spot where he had been chained. He rose up again, his bones and muscles still audibly creaking and cracking. Robert cringed slightly at the sound. Lupin turned around again, and Robert could see that he was cradling what was left of his clothing – torn to shreds, apparently, in the transformation process.

Lupin sorted through the clothes. They were all damaged beyond use, and likely, beyond repair. Finally, Lupin held up a long, tattered cloak. Although the cloak had a large rend running lengthwise at the side seam, it was still functional enough for Lupin to wear. Again, with groaning bones and muscles, Lupin eased himself into the cloak, and fastened it, top, middle and bottom. "Better than a dusty old curtain." He smiled weakly.

Robert was at a loss for words. "I'm sorry, Remus."

"Don't think on it, Robert. None of this tonight was your fault." Remus smiled. "I was absent at dinner and did not hear your introduction. Am I to understand that you are filling my old position?"

Robert rolled his eyes slightly. "What position is that?"

"Four years ago, I taught Defense Against the…"

"Dark Arts?" Robert sighed. "If I had a nickel for each time I heard that tonight…but, no. I'm not a wizard – I'm a Muggle -- as you can probably tell. If I was a wizard, I assume I could have just _abracadabra-ed_ or blasted my way out of here and away from you."

"_Abracadabra_…" Remus mused. "Be careful with that word, Robert. The true pronunciation of that particular spell is "_Avada Kedavra_."

Robert shook his head. "So?"

"_Avada Kedavra_ is the intonation for the curse that kills. It is an unforgivable curse. Anyone who uses it and is caught faces a life sentence in Azkaban, the wizarding prison. And that, Robert, is a most horrible place." Remus stared, and then blinked. "I take it you met Harry Potter?"

"Yes, I met him on the train here, but why?"

"And since you know James Potter is dead, you also know that Voldemort killed him, and his wife," Remus' voice hitched slightly. "Lily Evans-Potter?"

"Yes." Robert feared where this was going.

"They, James and Lily, my friends, were killed with that very curse. I also believe that is the curse that took" Remus' voice hitched again, "Sirius Black's life -- but I did not completely see it happen. More importantly, that was also the very curse that backfired – from Harry Potter and left Voldemort powerless."

"I'll watch my words from now on." Robert sighed. "It's hard to be proper when things are so new – and so strange." In his tussle with the werewolf, Robert had completely forgotten his awkward, fish-out-of-water feelings. Now, they rushed back at him with gale force. Robert was again, put in his place.

"Understandable." Remus said with finality. "Now, let's get ourselves out of here and…"

"Remus, I should tell you. The poem – the clue – it said that Voldemort was coming – soon -- and that he going to bring something called dementors. I don't know about you, but from what I hear about them I don't think I have any way to defend myself against them."

Remus, surprisingly, showed no sign of shock or surprise whatsoever. In fact, Robert saw a tiny glimmer of excitement behind Remus' eyes, as if he was steeling himself for a great challenge. Admirable resolve, this man has!

"Stick close to me," Remus said. "I can drive them off. I also taught Harry Potter how to use the Patronus charm – that's what does it – gets rid of dementors. Also, from what I understand," Remus seemed to swell with a small amount of pride. "Harry has, in turn taught some of the other students – Hermione Granger and Neville Longbottom, to name a few – how to use the charm with great success. Not to worry, Robert, we will be well defended."

Robert smiled. "You have a plan, Remus?"

"I'm not quite sure I do, but it is the best we have, isn't it?"

Robert chewed his bottom lip. "Remus, what do you teach now? Why are you at Hogwarts?"

"I have no teaching position at the moment. I was summoned here tonight. And when Hogwarts summons, one answers."

"Who summoned you?"

"Professor Dumbledore, on behalf of the interim Dark Arts teacher, Paolo Zabini."

"That's funny." Robert gave a slight chuckle.

"What is?" Remus cocked his head slightly. Robert shuddered inwardly as he heard Remus' neck bones crack with the sudden movement.

"Paolo -- he's an old friend of mine. He was one of my students at Harvard. I never knew until now that he was a wizard, of course. He's the one who, as you say, summoned me to Hogwarts, too. When he called, he told me he was inviting me up to his house in Hogsmeade for some rest. When I got here it turns out that I was thrust in the middle of this mystery."

Remus scowled. "Paolo told me that he needed my help in setting up a curriculum."

Both innocent enough, right? Strange though, that Paolo was the thread that now connected these two men, brought them both to Hogwarts, and directly into the line of danger. Robert could not banish the thought that it was Paolo who brought him to the Shrieking Shack and directly into the lair of the werewolf. But it was impossible. Paolo would never…he'd never purposefully put Robert in harm's way. Robert shook his head.

Having wasted too much time already, Remus fished in the cloak pocket and produced a wand. He aimed it squarely at the doorknob and said, "_Alohamora_." The knob jiggled and the door opened with a loud creak.

"Well," said Robert. "If I knew it was that easy…" He smiled.

"Robert," Remus breathed, "you may have to help me down the stairs. I am still very weak."

"No problem, Remus. Just lean on me."

Robert stood to Remus' right, and draped Remus' arms over his own shoulders. He then shifted his own weight, acting as an extra set of legs, or a set of crutches for Remus to support himself. "This should do it." Although Remus was heavy on Robert's shoulders, he resolved not to complain or to struggle. If there was anything Remus needed right now it was strength – both physically and emotionally -- and Robert, despite his own gnawing fear, was willing to give it up in spades.

Robert helped Remus down the stairs and out through the rear door of the shack. They stood in the middle of a quaint village, facing what appeared to be a main street, lined with now-closed shops, town buildings, homes, and restaurants. The only lights came from two pubs. One of them, Robert could see, was called the "Three Broomsticks."

"Where do we go, Remus?" Robert asked.

Remus took his weight off Robert's shoulder, and turned towards Hogwarts. Robert followed Remus' gaze. Every single window in the school was lit up. There was an intense glow coming from the Great Hall. Remus, his hand shading his eyes, was apparently searching the skies.

"What are you looking for?"

"Dementors, Robert. They fly – hover overhead searching for their prey." Remus lowered his hand. "I don't see any. If Voldemort was coming, as you say that poem said, and was bringing dementors, there would be an entire flock of them poring down on Hogwarts. Seeing none is very encouraging."

"So, Remus, what now?"

"We go back to Hogwarts."

With that, one of the Thestral coaches approached. Robert gawked. "Are they always this responsive?"

"Yes, in fact, they are. Climb in. It's the fastest way back."

Remus and Robert sat in silence in the Thestral coach, broken only occasionally by Remus' groans of pain when the coach hit a rock or a bump. By the time they arrived back at Hogwarts, Robert was almost feeling achy and sore himself in sympathy.

Robert helped Remus out of the carriage, and nearly carried him up the front steps to the entrance hall. Robert grasped the large knocker and rapped the door urgently. Hearing no response, Robert shouted through the crack between the doors.

"Paolo! Paolo are you there? It's me, Robert, and I have Remus Lupin! I found him! He's okay! Paolo!"

There was no answer. Robert knocked again.

"Paolo! Come on, man, open up! Please!" Robert turned to Lupin. "Can you do something, that aloha thing?"

"Alohamora? No, I can't," said Lupin. "Not on this door. Hogwarts is very well protected. You can't open the doors using any magic. You can't use magic to travel inside, either. It is even, theoretically, impossible for Voldemort to get inside!"

Robert raised a hand to knock again, and the door swung open. Robert found himself dragged inside by the collar by a large, muscular hand. The man's other arm wrapped easily around Remus' waist and carried him inside.

"Professor Lupin! I thought you was dead, I did! Oh, oh, it's so good to see you alive!" He gave Lupin a squeeze, and set him down gently. "Yer shouldn'a been wanderin' outside tonight, Professors, s'pecially you, Professor Lupin! I had orders not ta' let anyone in or out, but Professor Zabini said you was all okay to let in so I did and here ye are."

"Thanks, Hagrid," said Remus, who had collapsed in a heap on the floor. "Hagrid, this is Robert Langdon. Robert, Rubeus Hagrid."

Robert couldn't speak. "Uh, uh….hello." The man standing before him was – for lack of a better word – a giant. At least seven and a half feet tall and as wide as a Mack Truck – the man had a mass tangle of black hair and beard that utterly overwhelmed his entire face.

"No time fer introductions now, Professor Lupin," Hagrid barked. "You and Robert here, you'd best be getting' upstairs to Professor Dumbledore's office." Hagrid lifted Remus up gently, and shooed the two of them up the staircase.

"Mr. Hagrid," Robert said. "Where is Paolo Zabini?"

Hagrid wheeled around. "Well, he's right…." He was dumbstruck. "Well, he'as right there just a minnit ago, wasn't he? Well, innit that somethin'? He musta gone upstairs to tell Professor Dumbledore that you was okay, Professor Lupin!"

"Thanks, Mr. Hagrid," Robert said. He scooped under Lupin's right arm again, and ushered him up the staircase, down the hall, and to the entrance to Dumbledore's office. Lupin gave the password, and the statue spun to life.

Dumbledore was waiting for them at the oak doors. He ran – no – he sprinted, down the short hallway and caught Lupin in a fatherly embrace. "Remus, my boy." He held Remus out at arms length. "I am so relieved. So, incredibly relieved that you are well."

"Yes, Professor," Lupin sighed. "So am I. But Robert here was almost not as lucky. If it wasn't for our quick thinking, even with mine as muddled as it was, he would be the one who was dead, and not me."

"What do you mean?" Dumbledore ushered Robert and Remus into his office.

As Robert entered the office, he saw Paolo. Paolo was sitting in a window seat, eyeing the sky outside. Probably looking for dementors, too.

Remus continued, slumping into an overlarge armchair. "My wolfsbane. I was on my way to see Severus about tonight's second dose. That's when I was ambushed. When I awoke, there was wolfsbane for me, but it was diluted. Didn't work properly. It had some strange side effects, too…"

Paolo turned, in a panic. "Remus! Where were you when this happened? Where did you change?"

"Whoever knocked me out took me to the Shrieking Shack…"

"_Dio mio_!" Paolo exclaimed. "Robert! I had no idea! I thought it would be safe there! I knew Lupin used the shack each month while he was here, but I never…I never even knew he was here until we found…" Paolo crossed the room in three strides and threw his arms around Robert. "_Delfino, Delfino_! If I knew, I never would have brought you there! _Grazie Dio_ you are alright! You could have been killed and it would have been all my fault!"

Paolo buried his face in Robert's robes. Robert heard the sounds of stifled sobs. He grasped Paolo's shoulders with a modicum of strength and pushed him gently away.

"Paolo, it's not your fault," Robert straightened Paolo's robes. "It is interesting, though. Whoever set up this little 'treasure hunt' somehow knew that I would end up face to face with Remus, here."

"Why do you say that?" Dumbledore asked, as he settled into his desk chair.

"Because, that second cryptex – Remus and I solved it just in time."

"What was inside?" Dumbledore leaned forward, his elbows on the desk.

Robert glanced at Remus, who was now struggling to stay awake. "Wolfsbane. A small, glass vial full of wolfsbane. If I hadn't opened the cryptex and found the wolfsbane, Remus here would have likely eaten me like so much chicken."

Remus gave an indignant snort, coughed, and removed yet another piece of glass from the inside of his cheek.

"Sorry." Robert said, shrugging.

"Was there anything else in the Cryptex?" Dumbledore stood and began pacing.

"You know, I didn't even look. I have it here, though." Robert took the cryptex out of his pocket, and opened it. Another piece of parchment fell out onto the floor and rolled under Dumbledore's desk. Robert bent to fetch it.

"Albus," said Remus, sleepily. "Have there been any signs of Voldemort coming? Any dementors?"

"None whatsoever, Remus," said Dumbledore, "and it is now nearly an hour past the allotted time. Paolo has been watching for quite some time now."

"So, Harry Potter – he's safe?"

"Yes, Remus, Harry is perfectly safe. He is probably up in Gryffindor Tower pacing the common room floor, itching to come down here and help, and trying to figure out some clever and crafty way to do so."

"Like father, like son." Remus yawned.

Robert retrieved the parchment and stood up. He unrolled it and read it aloud. It was another horribly-rhymed and mis-metered poem.

_A monkshood brew is tried and true_

_For taming a werewolf's ire_

_So if you live to read this clue_

_You well- reasoned my earth, air, and fire._

_One death per House, now nearly Mickey Mouse_

_I have taken as some payment due_

_The full vision Trelawney thus did espouse_

_I shall no longer need to pursue._

_My old servant awaits, and his patience abates_

_As his own house is now left to chance_

_So, if now by three, word does not come to me_

_A Slytherin shall with death dance. _

Remus scowled. "Mickey Mouse?"

"I think that referred to me. My watch. It has Mickey Mouse on it." Robert leaned over and showed Remus his timepiece. "Clever of him, eh?" Inwardly, Robert wondered with worry as to how You-Know-Who/Lord Voldemort would know about such a small detail as his Mickey Mouse watch, especially if this was supposedly written long before Robert arrived at Hogwarts – long before anyone knew that Robert would even be coming!

"So," said Robert, continuing. "At last we know what he's really after." Robert glanced sideways at Dumbledore, who nodded his head. "The prophecy. He wants to hear the rest of the prophecy." Robert rolled the parchment and slipped it into the pocket of his robes.

"The prophecy?" Remus asked. "You mean that prophecy Voldemort heard of before he attacked Harry? There's more to it than that?" Dumbledore nodded. Remus frowned. "I take it you're not going to tell us what it is."

Robert, whose gaze had accidentally fallen on Paolo, first noticed that Paolo did not react to the name, "Voldemort." Then, even more curious, he saw his old friend's muscles tighten ever so slightly in anticipation of Dumbledore's answer to Remus' question.

"I am sorry, Remus, but I cannot." Dumbledore smiled, and looked at both Remus and Paolo. "You know I trust you both implicitly. Especially now, I simply cannot chance divulging this secret to anyone else."

"Who else knows?" asked Remus.

"Other than myself?" Robert silently prayed that Dumbledore would not say his name, or those of Hermione and Ron. "Harry Potter and one other, who shall remain unnamed," Dumbledore lied.

"So, then," Paolo crossed in front of the desk and leaned the upper part of his leg on the corner. "Who is the old servant – obviously, from the poem, he is in Slytherin House."

Remus looked horrified. "There's only one person I can think of at Hogwarts who fits that description."

Dumbledore looked equally as horrified, and his features became steely with a mixture of resolve and incredible disappointment – almost to the point of betrayal. "Paolo. Please go and fetch Severus Snape. Please tell him to come to my office immediately."


	3. Third Quarter

**Chapter Nine**

**1:45 am – Dumbledore's Office - Hogwarts**

It was a short few moments before Paolo returned, with an extremely angry Severus Snape in tow. As Robert was learning, it was characteristic of the Potions Master to enter a room with a broad and dramatic flourish, his robes billowing out behind him like bat's wings. Snape stopped in the center of the room, his robes settling in the air around him, and stood stock-still in front of Dumbledore's desk. Snape's only motion consisted of crossing his arms and peering down his nose haughtily.

"Headmaster," Snape sneered, "you sent Zabini here to fetch me?" His nose crinkled with disgust upon saying the word, 'fetch.'

Dumbledore stood. His height, Robert now noticed, towered over Snape's. "Yes, Severus, I did send Paolo to, as you say, 'fetch' you. I humbly apologize for any," Dumbledore cleared his throat, "offense you may have taken, but your presence here is of utmost importance." He gestured to the chintz armchair next to Snape. "Please, sit."

Snape did not move. "You assigned me other tasks to attend to, Headmaster -- tasks to ensure the safety of this school, the teachers and, more importantly, the students." Snape's monotone whisper of a voice did not waver. "I should quite think I ought to get back to them."

"Ah, yes," said Dumbledore. "Yes I did, didn't I? I did assign you those duties, and you shall return to them presently." Dumbledore sat back down, placed his elbows on the table, and held his fingers up, tented tip-to-tip. "But at this particular moment, Severus, we have a new clue arising from the Cryptex – a clue requiring your own, shall we say, personal knowledge to solve. Furthermore, we have another enigmatic problem before us, one which calls for your particular area of expertise."

Robert, staring silently at Snape, noticed that the Potions Master had finally moved -- he uncrossed his arms. Snape clutched and rubbed at the inside of his left wrist with his right hand, as if that particular spot was causing him a great deal of pain. The pain, however did not show on his face.

At the same moment, Paolo scratched slightly at the same area on his own left arm. Robert saw this as well. Sympathy pains? Paolo, who had stood at practical attention ever since delivering Snape, began to move incrementally toward the door.

"Perhaps, Headmaster, I should go downstairs to the dungeons – to the Slytherin Common Room. Someone needs to and ensure the safety of those students, especially given the threatening clue we just received," he said nervously. "I can also check on the other faculty members, see how they are holding up under all of this – this tragedy."

Dumbledore did not take his eyes off of Severus. "Yes, Paolo. That, in fact, is an excellent idea. Go, see to your son and his housemates, as I am sure that is what you most desire. I can understand the importance of watching over and protecting Blaise."

"Thank you, sir." Paolo wrenched open the door and practically sprinted out of the room. Snape, Dumbledore and Lupin watched him leave, each with differing looks of disgust, concern, and utter confusion. The door shut behind Paolo with a loud 'boom' of wood against wood, and the door handle locked into place.

"Coward," Robert heard Snape mutter.

_Now what the hell was that all about?_ That, in Robert's estimation, was quite unlike Paolo – to run out of a situation instead of facing it head on and delving in to help. Robert considered it further. Paolo was probably just nervous and upset about Blaise. After all, it was Blaise's House that was the object of the new threat. Paolo's place right now was with his son. Yes, that's why.

Severus, still holding his left arm, turned back to face Dumbledore, and took a step toward the desk. "Headmaster, how may I be of service?"

"First of all, Severus, I cannot help but notice – your arm – your scar."

"Yes, Headmaster. The Dark Mark has been burning at my flesh all evening, ever since Professor Vector was murdered."

"The Dark Mark?" Robert asked. Lupin also leaned in for a closer look.

Snape turned violently toward Robert, yanking up the sleeve of his robe. "Yes, _Muggle_. The Dark Mark. There it is! Look! Ogle it all you wish. It is the mark of the Dark Lord! I ignorantly took the Mark in my youth."

Robert put up his hands in an 'okay, okay' type gesture, and backed away a few steps. Obviously, Robert had touched a nerve.

"Yes," Snape continued, "I was a follower of the Dark Lord, I was a Death Eater – and scars such as this never fade. When the Dark Lord is near or calls his Death Eaters, I still feel it – here," he pointed, "in my very flesh!"

"However," Snape swelled with pride. He abruptly pulled his sleeve back over the offending mark. "I do not respond. I do not answer Voldemort's call. I have since turned away from such, such – sadism, murder, and disgrace."

Robert remained uncharacteristically speechless, staring at the now-covered spot where the skull-and-snake symbol was burned into the skin on Snape's forearm. Robert did not need a symbologist's education to understand the meaning behind that symbol -- a snake emerging from and entwined through the eye and mouth of a human skull. It depicted a sickening picture of utter decay – a violation of human remains. Stealth and death. Immortality defeating death. Rebirth after death. Immense power rising from death. All of these, any of these. Take your pick.

Obviously, Robert reflected, this "Dark Mark" was quite a sore spot – in more than one way -- for Severus. Perhaps this was one of those things out of which Harry Potter indirectly warned Robert to keep his nose. Robert wondered, then, why Paolo was scratching at his own arm?

Could Paolo have been a – _what did Snape call them_? Death Eater? No. If he was, Robert would have seen such a mark years ago. He had seen Paolo in short sleeved shirts numerous times! Plus, Voldemort's initial downfall came nearly sixteen years ago, and Robert last saw Paolo only eight years ago. If Paolo was a former follower of the Dark Lord, that mark would have been there then! It simply wasn't, so Paolo couldn't_. Issue closed._

"Severus," Dumbledore continued. "You know that you have earned my trust in a most important way, and you know that my trust does not easily waver, especially in the face of mere suspicion or speculation."

Robert could see Severus begin to squirm. He itched harder at the Dark Mark. "I understand, sir."

"The most recent clue to come out of the Cryptex, Severus, it implies that you – forgive me, I should not jump to such conclusions. It states that a former servant of Voldemort, like yourself, is waiting -- waiting to collect the remainder of the prophecy about Voldemort and Harry Potter on behalf of the Dark Lord. If that servant is not satisfied by three o'clock, the clue indicates, sadly, that a Slytherin will be the next to die."

Dumbledore read the passage aloud.

_My old servant awaits, and his patience abates_

_As his own house is now left to chance_

_So, if now by three, word does not come to me_

_A Slytherin shall with death dance. _

Severus took in a breath through his clenched teeth and bowed his head. "I understand your fear, sir. It certainly seems that the passage is describing me. However, Headmaster, I can assure you, that I am not at a loss for patience at the moment. Furthermore, I am not now, and will never be, a servant of the Dark Lord again. I will, in fact, do everything in my power to prevent the death of one of my very own House. You know my loyalties to Slytherin House and this school are paramount."

"Oh, yes, Snivellus, just like you showed loyalty to, and protected Professor Vector?" Remus barked, his normally placid eyes now atypically aflame.

Severus turned on Remus, hot with fury. Robert thought for a moment that Severus was going to lunge at the werewolf and choke him. The two wizards stared each other down, with Remus nearly – literally -- growling at Snape. Obviously, as with James Potter, there was a great deal of animosity between Remus Lupin and Severus Snape – despite the wolfsbane potion.

"That is enough, Remus." Dumbledore bellowed. That was the first time Robert heard Dumbledore raise his voice, even with the incredible stress of the entire evening. Dumbledore turned back to Severus, who was again seizing his arm, the pain now visible on the pale, pinched face.

"Now, Severus. You know what I must do, do you not?"

"Yes, Headmaster." Severus lowered himself into one of the armchairs, laid his wand on the desk, and covered his eyes with his hands. "Do as you must, sir, but I am innocent."

Dumbledore lifted his wand, and aimed it at Severus' head. Robert was unsure of what punishment Dumbledore was about to mete out. He was even more unsure whether he should even be witnessing this. Robert walked back into an alcove, and sat, perching himself on the edge of a tall, hard backed chair.

"_Legillimens_," Dumbledore said gently, his eyes fixated upon Snape. Snape offered no resistance, but merely sat there, his head in his hands. After a moment, Snape began trembling, his fingers curling as they dug into his forehead and into his greasy black hair, hiding a grimace of fear and pain.

Robert crossed the room quickly and crouched next to Remus. "What is Dumbledore doing? It looks like he's torturing him!"

Remus blinked. "That is called Legillimency, Robert. Sometimes, depending upon the wizard, it _can_ be torture – such as in the hands of Lord Voldemort. But, in Dumbledore's hands, it is far from torture. Difficult, yes, but not painful. Dumbledore is experiencing, searching, living in Snape's memories. He is trying to find out if Snape had any hand in these murders. Dumbledore's an accomplished legillimens, so is Snape for that matter. If this does not prove Snape's innocence to Dumbledore, nothing will." Lupin stared hard at the now shaking Snape.

After a short moment, Dumbledore inhaled sharply, and let his breath out in a long cadence. Snape stopped trembling and removed his hands from his eyes. The two men now made eye contact, breathing hard. Snape collapsed back into the armchair.

"Severus, thank you," said Dumbledore. "Like I said, my trust has never wavered. I saw some memories in there that I should not like to ever make you repeat. I saw you discover Professor Vector's body and felt your anger and your grief. As much as that Dark Mark may burn you, I know that you are not the one to fear from within Hogwarts. Now the task is to find out to whom exactly that poem refers."

"But you needed to see. You needed to know. You needed to know if your trust in me really had been broken. I appreciate what you are doing, Headmaster, and I am only happy that I could prove myself worthy." Snape wiped his brow with his robe-sleeve and swallowed hard.

Dumbledore allowed Severus a few moments to recover. "Now, Severus," Dumbledore said, again perching his fingers against each other in an inverted V, "on to more pressing matters. Wolfsbane."

"Wolfsbane…yes?" Severus was still panting slightly.

"When was the last time you made any?"

"The day before yesterday, when you informed me that Lupin, here," he said with a modicum of spite, "was coming to assist Professor Zabini."

"Did you make it any differently than normal?"

"Of course not, Headmaster. If wolfsbane potion is brewed incorrectly, the effects can be devastating. In fact, Headmaster, I quite expected Lupin here," again, said with malice, "to come down to my dungeon this very evening for a dose of it. When he did not appear, I began searching for him. In fact, I am quite surprised to see him here – and in this form. Wolfsbane is not designed to return a werewolf to human form – it can only remove the memories, sentience, and awareness from the man, while at the same time removing the murderous instincts from the beast, taming it."

Dumbledore nodded. "We are all as surprised, Severus. Tell me, then, how can this – Lupin's retransformation -- be possible?"

"Honestly, Headmaster, I do not know. If, however I had a sample of the potion he drank, I can perhaps, determine…"

Lupin chimed in, holding his hands out under Snape's nose. "Your sample's right here, Snape. I had to crush the vial between my – er – paws, and lick it off. There has to be some more on my hands. They are a little bit sticky."

"You licked…" Snape said with disgust. "Where did you get it?"

"From me," said Robert. Snape wheeled in his chair and glared. "I mean, it was in the second cryptex." Robert spent the next few moments explaining to Snape how he was trapped in the Shrieking Shack with Lupin, and narrowly escaped with his life.

"Not a pleasant feeling, being face to face with a werewolf, eh, Langdon?" Snape looked at Lupin darkly. "I have much, I should say, experience with such encounters, thanks to your friends, werewolf."

Lupin sighed with an air of impatience. "Snape, now is not the time to renew old vendettas against Sirius or dwell on life debts you owe to James. Now is the time to figure out what in Merlin's name is going on in this school. Let it lie, man! Just take whatever you need from my hands and get on with it!" Obviously, Lupin was regaining some of his prior spunk.

"Severus," Dumbledore interrupted. "Let me ask you this. Before you brewed this latest batch of wolfsbane for Remus, when was the last time prior?

"My sixth year NEWT level potions class brewed it for part of their final exam, Headmaster. Some of them were successful, some were not. It is a difficult potion and I felt it appropriate for sixth year students to be able to do."

"NEWT?" Robert asked, whispering to Remus.

"Yes. Like Muggle A-levels."

"Now, I know, Severus," said Dumbledore, "that you have many tricks up your sleeve for detecting cheats in your potions examinations, especially those at sixth year level. While it is a requirement of the Hogwarts Honor Code that students turn in a vial of their own potion, you also have ways of determining the identity of the brewer should you suspect foul play, do you not?"

"Yes, but only if it was a student who brewed it. The charm lies in the cauldrons. NEWT students are not permitted to use their own cauldrons for examinations. I provide them. Each cauldron is number marked to a particular student."

That sounds an awful lot like using randomly numbered bluebooks, different versions of tests, and school-provided Bic Biro pens, Robert mused. Each professor has their own way of ensuring honesty. This was Snape's.

"Would you be able to perform such an analysis even long after the tests are over?"

Robert could see the wheels turning behind Snape's eyes. "Yes, Headmaster. I can, and I understand what you are asking of me." He smiled slightly, and turned toward Lupin. "Hold out your grubby little hands again."

Lupin pursed his lips together and furrowed his brow in a piqued scowl, but complied. Snape pulled his wand out, and made small circles around the perimeter of Lupin's outstretched hands. "_Discidium_!"

Slowly, very slowly, miniscule droplets of the iridescent green potion pooled up onto Lupin's palms, forming two small globules of wolfsbane, one in each hand, as if the potion was being withdrawn systematically from within Lupin's very skin, his very pores. Snape pulled a small, empty vial out of his pocket, collected the potion, and replaced the stopper.

Lupin clapped his hands together. "That's that then. Nice and clean. Thank you very much."

Snape held the vial up to one of the flaming wall sconces lining Dumbledore's office. "This is wolfsbane, but it does not look correct." Snape's nose crinkled, and he scowled slightly. "I have seen a result like this before. Recently."

"Yes?" Dumbledore asked.

"This wolfsbane. It appears to be too concentrated. Too strong, as if someone added too much monkshood to the mixture. It should never glow like this, unless, of course…" Snape stroked at his chin with his right hand, his eyes darting to the left.

"Of course, what, Severus? What is it?" Lupin asked.

"Unless it is aged…if it is more than a few months old, it may take on an iridescence. In addition, the longer it ages, the more potent, but potentially, the more dangerous it becomes. Just looking at it I can't tell you who brewed it. But, I can find out for certain." Snape uncorked the bottle and poured a small amount of the potion onto a piece of clean parchment sitting on Dumbledore's desk. He again raised his wand, pointed at the potion and intoned, "_fabbricanta!_"

Robert leaned over the desk and watched the potion drag and zoom across the parchment. When it finally came to rest, it pooled up again. Within the pool was a number, a surname and a first initial. Robert read it, but didn't believe it. He read it again, and again.

"How could he – this student -- get hold of his own potion – this dangerous potion -- after all this time?" Robert asked.

"I do not know," Snape answered, flabbergasted. "But this potion is most definitely from last year's NEWT level Potions class." Snape turned and began to pace. "It is my policy to watch each student vial and stopper their potions, and then I immediately use _Evanesco,_ a vanishing spell, to rid the cauldron of the remaining contents. This is to ensure that all cauldrons are completely empty before releasing students from examinations – ultimately to prevent any potions from leaving my classroom! Furthermore, after I evaluate and grade the potions in the vials, I dispose of them! Perhaps I missed one." Snape bowed his head in apparent shame. "Obviously, Headmaster, I have failed yet again!"

Robert looked down at the name again. It glowed up at him from the parchment, taunting him, almost mocking. It was impossible. How could this student's – this particular student's -- potion end up in the hands of Lord Voldemort? How could this particular vial of extremely potent, and potentially dangerous, wolfsbane wind up within the second cryptex? Was it stolen from Snape's office? More importantly, who gave it to the Dark Lord?

Snape's visit, unfortunately, created far more questions than answers.

Dumbledore, too, looked mesmerized at the name. He looked up from the parchment and turned to Snape. "Severus, my friend, do not worry yourself overmuch. Given the information illuminated on the parchment before us, it appears that we may have yet another task for you to complete." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled momentarily. "This, Severus, should also be right up your alley, so to speak. And you now have," Dumbledore looked at the clock in his office. It was 2:30 am. "One half hour to achieve it."

**Chapter Ten**

**2:35 am –The Great Hall - Hogwarts**

Robert followed as Snape and Lupin led him back down the hall, down the moving staircase, and into the now darkened Great Hall. While the other two men entered, Robert stayed in the doorway, simply staring.

Only six hours ago, this Hall was full of noisy, chattering, laughing students, bustling with energy and youthful life. Now, it appeared empty, cavernous, much larger, and full of dark shadows and frightening echoes. It reminded Robert of the nave of an old, unused English Cathedral – a once-vital place of gathering and meeting that now stood barren save for the few tourists and architecture buffs paying it a visit. Without the students, this Great Hall was merely a shell of its otherwise glorious self.

The ceiling still reflected the sky outside – clear, starry, and brightly moonlit. As it was near morning, the moon was now hanging lower in the sky, and was partially cut off by the lower edge of the enchanted ceiling. The occasional dark grey cloud streaked across the bluish black with very little contrast – like a faint shadow. The floating candles were gone, and the majority of the wall torches had been extinguished. The only torches remaining lit carried an ethereal blue flame, reminding Robert of old-fashioned natural gas lamps.

"Stay here, Langdon," Snape ordered. "Lupin will keep you company while I go down to the Slytherin Common room to find, or I should say, fetch," he sneered, "Zabini. I will be back shortly." Without another word, Snape turned, his long, black robes again billowing out behind him with an overly theatrical flair.

Remus, seemingly from pure habit, walked to the end portion of the Gryffindor table, straddled the bench, and lowered himself gingerly down. Robert followed, and took a seat opposite. Remus, despite his previously growing vigor, looked tired and worn again.

"You look just about how I feel, Remus." Robert said, the late hour and the events of the day finally catching up to him. "But I know it's not over. Not by a long shot."

"You are so right, Robert. We still have much work to do. Especially now that we know whose potion that was."

"I still can't believe it." Robert shook his head. "There must be some mistake, there has to be! I mean, Severus said it was nearly impossible for anyone to take potions out of his classroom! And as much trouble as I hear the boy gets in on occasion, I can't imagine him taking such a risk! It confuses me even more that he would do anything, I mean anything to help out Lord Voldemort! It makes no sense for…"

"Shhh." Remus held up a hand, cutting Robert off mid-sentence. "Quiet." He peered toward the entrance doors, and squinted. "Ah. Yes."

Robert followed Remus' stare. "I don't see anything, Remus."

"Just watch and listen," he smiled conspiratorially, and then whispered. "We should keep our discussion about the errant potion to a minimum right now. We are not alone."

Robert looked again. No one was there. "But, Remus!"

"Shush!" Remus cleared his throat, and then spoke with a deliberately loud voice. "If Harry Potter's father could only see him now. Ducking into shadows, lurking about moping and pouting like an ickle wee baby in the Gryffindor Common Room, hiding behind his friends and classmates…tsk, tsk, what would James say? He'd be right disappointed, he would."

Robert played along. "Yeah, and Sirius Black, too, from what you just told me, what a shame that Harry's such a… such a…"

"Chicken?" Remus stifled a giggle.

"Yes, chicken! Yellow-bellied coward, that Harry Potter." Robert laughed. It was the first time in nearly a week that Robert did so. Although the situation was not completely appropriate, some laughter and mirth was warranted to break the horrible tension of the past few hours. Frankly, Robert needed the recharge.

"I am not a coward." A bodiless voice echoed throughout the Great Hall. "Neither am I a chicken."

"Uh, oh." Remus mocked. "He heard us!" Remus stood and walked toward the entrance doors. He reached up his hand toward the nothingness, grasped at nothing, and pulled at nothing. Under all that nothing stood Harry – visibly tired, with reddened eyes and hair that stood up even moreso than usual.

Remus smiled. "You're just like your father with that ego problem, Potter. Call James Potter chicken and you're in for a real row." Remus ruffled Harry's hair. "And, Harry, if you're going to lurk about in James' old invisibility cloak, do remember who you're trying to fool. I've seen James in this thing times enough that I know what it looks like when someone is wearing one. You should know that if you look hard enough, and if you, Harry, move too much, the background goes all funny and wavy."

Robert could only stare. He stood to full attention when Remus revealed Harry under the cloak. "Holy crap! I thought he was hiding behind the door or something! What is that thing?"

"It's my dad's old invisibility cloak," Harry replied. "I'm not sure how it works, but when you wear it, you become invisible."

"Nearly invisible," Remus corrected, smiling. "Now, Potter," Remus took on a teacherly, scolding tone, and he wagged a finger in Harry's face. "Why in the bloody hell are you out of bed and wandering the school halls at this time of night? Haven't I warned you before? It's not safe for you to just go anywhere you want or feel like – especially this night! What did I say to you about your father and mother dying for you?"

Harry scowled. "I haven't forgotten that! I am not flouting my parents' sacrifice!" Harry slumped onto one of the Ravenclaw benches facing Remus. "Don't you understand? I had to come down here and find you! I had to know what was going on! You know me, I can't help myself, especially when it comes to Voldemort!"

Remus nodded. "Yes I do know you all too well, Harry."

Harry continued. "By the way, we, the Gryffindors I mean, we're all happy that you're not dead. Especially me."

"Why thank you!"

"I'm being serious!" Harry said. "I had to see you for myself – that you really were alive. Now that Sirius is gone, you're the closest thing I have to my mum and dad." He hung his head. "When I heard you were dead... Hermione and Ron, they… I just didn't…" Harry's voice trailed off.

Remus leaned over to rest his elbows on his knees. He reached out and took one of Harry's hands in his own, pulling Harry toward him. He looked up at Harry. "Potter, you have more of your mum and dad in you than you can possibly know. I've told you this before. You don't need me. You carry them with you. Always." Remus laid a hand on Harry's chest. "Right here."

Harry just smiled. Then that smile turned into a concerned frown. He looked up at Robert, then back to Remus. It was obvious to Robert that Harry had some trouble mustering up the courage to say what he was going to say.

"My scar…" Harry lifted a hand to his head.

"What about it, Harry?" Remus asked. His face suddenly flushed with concern. "It's been painful, hasn't it, tonight?" Remus reached up and brushed Harry's bangs aside. Robert noticed that the scar was deeper and redder – more pronounced -- than it was a few hours ago.

Harry nodded. "It's not the only thing, but it has kept me awake all night. Voldemort, he…" Harry paused. "He's trying to get into my head again, Remus." Robert was taken aback slightly at Harry's use of Lupin's first name. "He has to be close by, that's the only explanation. I've been practicing Occlumency all night to keep him out, and it's been hard. I know what he's after, and, believe me, I won't let him have it."

"The prophecy?" Robert asked.

Harry had almost forgotten that Robert was there. He looked up with a start. "Yes. That's what he wants. He's using Legillimency to get at it now. He's tried this before, but I've always been able to fight him off – shove him aside." Harry frowned. "It's getting harder now."

"How is this possible?" Robert was again amazed at the abilities these wizards have.

Remus took up the explanation. "You saw Legillimency in action, Robert, upstairs with Snape. Now, if Snape wanted to, he could have easily blocked Dumbledore's searching using a technique called Occlumency. It's difficult, very difficult. Occlumency is essentially a blocker. It prevents others from entering your thoughts and memories. Snape is the one who taught Harry how to use it." He turned to Harry. "Have you considered using a Pensieve?"

"Yes," Harry replied, "but Dumbledore thinks it's too risky – he thinks the prophecy's safer up here." He pointed to his head. "Anyone can dive into a Pensieve and see that thought without anyone being able to stop it. Here, in my head, only a Legillimens can get at it, and I can prevent it."

Sensing Robert's growing confusion, Remus explained. "A Pensieve is like a big bowl where thoughts and memories can be stored."

All Robert could manage was, "oh." Then he looked at his watch. It was now 2:45. "Where is Snape?"

Robert's question could not have been more perfectly timed. Before Remus could answer, Snape, his robes again billowing, entered the Great Hall, a permanent sneer plastered on his face. Paolo walked in behind him, appearing abnormally nervous.

"Potter," Snape snarled. "Out of bed and out of bounds again, I see. Rules mean nothing to you, do they? And this…" Snape lifted the corner of the invisibility cloak. "Dumbledore and his special favors, allowing you to keep magical items such as these that are designed for nothing but troublemaking! It boils the blood."

Harry grimaced slightly. Obviously, he was too tired to really become angry.

"Severus," Remus said, "this is neither the time nor place for your fits of jealousy or your misplaced anger toward James Potter. Leave Harry alone. He, of all students, has been through hell tonight. Thinking that one of his father's best friends was brutally murdered tonight wasn't bad enough. He's been fighting off the Dark Lord's Legillimency attacks for the past six hours and its taking a toll on him!"

"I do hope you have been keeping up with your Occlumency practice, Potter." Snape's icy coldness seemed, to Robert, to crack ever so slightly. "You have been able to fend him off, haven't you?"

Harry sighed. "So far, yes. But Voldemort, he's strong. And he's close, and…aaargh!" Harry clutched at his forehead and doubled over, falling off the bench and onto the floor. As Remus said earlier, torture.

Robert, Remus and Snape dashed toward him. Robert lifted Harry up under his shoulders and placed him back on the bench. "What the hell just happened?"

"Vol...Vol… Voldemort." Harry murmured. "He just tried it again!" Harry straightened up. "He's gone though. He's gone."

Remus and Severus exchanged worried glances. Paolo approached and sat next to Harry. "All right there, Potter?" Harry didn't answer. Instead, he looked up at Paolo, his eyes wide in sudden and abject horror.

"Paolo," Snape began, eyeing Harry's reaction. "We need to talk."

"I was with my son, Severus. What could be so important?"

"Your son, in fact, is what is so important." Severus answered. "That wolfsbane potion Robert drew from the Cryptex…that potion was brewed by Blaise last summer at end of term!" Snape's eyes bored into Paolo's, searching for a response.

"No," Paolo muttered. "But, that's impossible! How could he take potions out of the castle?"

"That's what we wanted to know." Remus said. Snape continued to stare at Paolo.

"I have no idea. Truly!"

"More importantly, Paolo," Remus continued. "How did that particular potion end up in Death Eater hands? How did it end up inside the Cryptex?"

"I don't know."

Snape stood up suddenly. "Lupin, Langdon, a moment please." He gestured toward the door. "Zabini. Stay with Potter. Don't let him out of your sight."

Robert's heart skipped with renewed worry. No, _I _won't let Paolo or Harry out of _my_ sight.

As they approached the door, Snape whispered. "Paolo is using Occlumency. I have tried for the last few minutes to enter his mind and I have been blocked each time. This is most suspicious."

Remus and Robert nodded, and the three returned to the table.

"Paolo," Robert began. "Can I ask you another question – about the school Houses?" Robert tried switching tactics -- changing the subject to ease Paolo into talking.

"What House was Vol…" Paolo shuddered this time. "Sorry, You-Know-Who from?"

Paolo sighed. "Slytherin, of course."

"And Blaise is a Slytherin, right?"

"Yes. But, I don't see where this is going?"

"What is You-Know-Who's main goal? What is it that he most wants?"

"The prophecy?" Paolo shrugged.

"No, bigger than that, more big-picture, global. There has to be something, Paolo. What is it? You told me that Slytherin House has this pureblood ideal. Is that something You-Know-Who stands for too?"

"Yes, of course he does. He's descended from Salazar Slytherin, the founder of that House! Of course he stands for that ideal."

"Then," Robert stood and began pacing. "Isn't it possible also that Blaise could be caught up in that?"

Paolo began to shake his head in utter denial. "No, not possible."

"Hear me out, Paolo. It makes sense." Robert mused for a moment. "When we got off the train and met him, Blaise was, well, for lack of a better word, different. Militaristic. Reminded me of a Hitler Youth, to be honest. That racial slur he used, '_anima fangosa_,' 'Mudblood.' I mean, you lit into him pretty good when he said that. Doesn't that slur, that name, go along with it?"

Paolo continued to shake his head. "No. My son is not a Death Eater, and he is not involved with anything having to do with the Dark Lord." Notably, Paolo began itching at his left arm again.

"What do you keep grabbing at on your wrist, Paolo?" Robert reached down to pull up Paolo's sleeve. Paolo shirked away.

"Aaarrgh!" Harry doubled over again in newly intense pain. Harry fell to the floor again, this time writhing, squirming, clutching at his head, and balling his knees up. Harry's throat produced feral, guttural groans and grunts of pain. Robert sensed that the pain this time was incredible, unbearable. Clearly, this was the torture that Lupin was talking about. Robert had to struggle to keep from bursting into tears himself watching Harry suffer this way.

After a few seconds, Harry sat bolt upright. He took in a great breath and shouted, "NO!!!!" He repeated this single word over and over and over again. Remus, Robert, and Snape again tried to hold him, comfort him, or even restrain him, but Harry kept thrashing.

As suddenly as the fit began, it stopped. At the very same moment, a figure appeared in the doorway to the Great Hall. He was running at full sprint, nearly knocking into the Hufflepuff table.

Robert recognized the blond, pinched-faced boy immediately. It was Draco Malfoy. Only this time, Robert noticed, he was not wearing that haughty, judgmental expression he first saw at the Thestral paddock. Now, Draco was, for lack of a better word, a mess. The slicked-back hair of just six hours ago was messy, tousled, and slightly wet. The eyes were sunken. The robes were askew, hanging off Draco's left shoulder. Robert also noticed that Draco was wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt under the outer robe.

"What is it, Malfoy?" Snape barked. "Why are you out of bed?"

"It's Blaise Zabini, Professor Snape!" Draco stopped in front of the Gryffindor table, panting, and looking desperately from face to face. "Help us! He's gone! Blaise, he's gone!"

"What do you mean, gone?" Robert could see the panic bubble within Paolo. Paolo put his hands on Draco's shoulders, shaking him slightly.

"Professor Zabini, sir. We were sitting in the common room waiting for furher word, sir, and Blaise wanted something to eat, so…"

"Get on with it, boy! Get to the point!" Paolo bellowed.

"His bed locker, sir! He opened up the locker, touched one of the boxes inside, and disappeared! We don't know where he went, sir, but I think there was a Portkey in there!"

Paolo released Draco's shoulders and slumped back down onto the bench. Like Robert did hours before, Paolo leaned over and snaked his fingers through his graying hair.

"Portkey?" Robert asked.

Snape answered, his words coming uncharacteristically rapid. "A Portkey is a way of transport. An ordinary object is charmed to serve as a portal, so to speak, between two places."

"So, if someone wanted to kidnap Blaise without having to breach the school's security…"

"Yes," Remus answered. "All they would have to do is somehow plant a Portkey in a place they know their victim would touch it. As soon as it is touched, the person would be transported…wherever."

"Okay, but how in the hell did a Portkey get in Blaise's personal belongings?"

Snape, Remus, Harry and Draco all shook their heads in unison and shrugged. Paolo wrung his hands.

Robert looked at his watch. 3:02 am. Damn. Whoever did this was right on time. Right on time. We missed it again. "Blaise, then was the Slytherin in the poem…" Robert said out loud. He repeated the poem to himself.

_My old servant awaits, and his patience abates_

_As his own house is now left to chance_

_So, if now by three, word does not come to me_

_A Slytherin shall with death dance. _

My old servant awaits…, Robert thought. His own house is now left to chance. Robert took the piece of parchment out of his pocket and studied it intently. After a moment, Robert's eyes widened, and he blanched. "My God. I don't believe this! Why didn't I notice this before?"

"Notice what," asked Remus.

"House."

"House, what about House?"

"You don't understand, Remus. This parchment, it says, house. The word, 'house' is not capitalized, because it's not a proper noun. It's a common noun. Meaning, a house, as in a building, or a family unit – as opposed to Hufflepuff House or Slytherin House or…." Robert paused, looking suspiciously at Paolo. "Ravenclaw House."

"I still don't get it." Remus said.

"Blaise Zabini." Robert prodded, quoting the poem again, pointing to the line on the parchment. "His own house is now left to chance." He sat next to Paolo, still eyeing him distrustfully. "You, Paolo, you're the 'old servant,' aren't you? And it's not your capital-H 'House,' as in Slytherin, or in your case, Ravenclaw, that's in trouble, it's your actual house – your household – Blaise and Vickie -- your family, Paolo, isn't it?"

The others in the room fell silent with indignant shock. Draco gasped and covered his mouth, visibly sick. Paolo, his head still in his hands, shook violently, his shoulders heaving in abject grief. With Paolo's hands raised, the sleeve of his robe fell. Robert, horrorstruck, saw the Dark Mark emblazoned upon his left forearm.

Robert took a composing breath. He was not going to yell. He was not going to scream. He was not going to get angry or upset. Merely, handle the situation, and get Blaise to safety. Although he truly did not want to, Robert had to hear the truth.

Robert spoke quietly, non-confrontationally, to his old friend. He still could not believe such things of Paolo. There still had to be some reason, some rational explanation. Temporary insanity? No. Bribery—threats—coercion. That must be it. "This has all been you, hasn't it? The Dark Lord's taken Blaise to get to you, hasn't he? He gets to you, you get him the prophecy, he gets Harry Potter, Blaise is set free."

Paolo didn't answer. He didn't have to. The answer came in Paolo's keening wails. That answer was, yes.

For a few long moments the only sound in the Great Hall was Paolo's grief and guilt-stricken sobs. Harry, with a renewed sense of urgency, broke the silence. "We need to get Blaise out of there, and quickly." Harry said. "Voldemort's happier than he's ever been. I should know. I just felt it."

**Chapter Eleven**

**3:06 am – The Great Hall – Hogwarts**

No one in the room showed any signs of anger or outrage. No one shouted judgments or condemnations at Paolo. With Blaise Zabini's life – or at least his normal life – on the line now, each and every person in the room focused on the task Harry just laid out for them. It was imperative that they rescue Blaise. Worrying about things like Paolo's motivation towards murder, or a suitable punishment for same would have to wait until later.

Remus Lupin, a burst of adrenaline now masking and dulling his pain, shot toward Draco Malfoy. Malfoy was at least two inches taller than Remus, but in his grief and growing sense of guilt, he shrunk under Remus' glare.

"This was all my fault." Draco sobbed. "We knew what Professor Zabini was doing – going after the prophecy for You-Know-Who! Even after there were three murders, we didn't do anything to stop him! We had no idea he'd get dementors to kiss Blaise! We… we thought it would mean You-Know-Who could come back stronger, take over the school. It's what I've been taught all my life is the best thing! I thought it would get my father and the others – Nott, Crabbe, Goyle, McNair – out of Azkaban!" O Draconian Devil…

"Malfoy." Remus placed his hands on Draco's shoulders. Malfoy sneered in mild disgust. "Draco. I know and I understand. I don't like it, not one bit, but I understand. However, if we're going to prevent another death and get your friend Blaise back, you have to work with us – with Dumbledore – for a change. Not against us – not on the side of Voldemort – do you understand?"

Draco nodded. "Yes, but my father, he's still in Azkaban, and it's all because of Potter and Dumbledore and…!"

"Malfoy," Snape intervened. "Your father's presence in Azkaban has nothing to do with Potter. Potter merely acted to save his own life, and Dumbledore to save everyone else's. You should know first-hand by now that Potter's instinct for self-preservation is keenly honed. Do you not know that the Dark Lord nearly killed Potter two years ago – possessed him utterly? If anything, Malfoy, your father's being in Azkaban is due only to prideful carelessness on the part of the Dark Lord and the other Death Eaters! I hate to say this, but if your father had followed through, killed Potter and the others right away, and taken the prophecy orb from the Department of Mysteries when he had the chance…"

Harry shifted uncomfortably where he stood. It was obvious to Robert that whatever happened was an event that Harry was loath to relive. Clearly, something happened two years ago where Harry had a run-in with Voldemort that nearly cost him his life – and that confrontation had to do with the prophecy. Robert continued to listen with rapt attention.

Snape continued. "… he would not be where he is today. Frankly, Mr. Malfoy, even if the Dark Lord were to take Potter, I seriously doubt he would follow through with his promise to release your father. If he wanted your father out of Azkaban, he would be out by now. The dementors follow him now, they obey him, and they no longer care about guarding Azkaban."

Draco hung his head. Robert could tell that Draco Malfoy had great respect for Severus Snape, and he clung tightly to Snape's advice. For Snape to say such things to Draco – that must have been an intense wake-up call for the boy. Draco looked up at Harry for a moment, with an expression of intense hatred and jealousy, tears of frustration now streaming down his face. "Potter," he spat.

"Yes, Malfoy." Harry's voice showed no sign of hate, no sign of malice – only concern.

"Get Blaise back. If anyone can do it, you bloody well can – you'd better." Snape's speech obviously, and thankfully, worked.

A brief, flickering smile crossed Harry's face. "I'll do my best, Malfoy."

Robert sprang into action. "Now, what do we do?"

"Malfoy, you must go to Dumbledore. As much as you hate to, you must. Tell Dumbledore what happened, although I imagine he probably knows. Help him gather the Aurors from the Ministry of Magic. We will, I imagine, need backup," Snape ordered. Draco turned on his heel and hurried out of the Great Hall. Robert could hear his footsteps echo through the hallways toward Dumbledore's office.

Snape turned toward Robert and Remus. "The rest of us, we will proceed to the Common Room and inspect Zabini's locker. If it is as I suspected, we should find the Portkey left behind. The Dark Lord would not chance Zabini's ability to return to Hogwarts by planting a two-way Portkey."

"Yeah," Harry said, "but isn't he chancing us coming after him?"

"Frankly, Harry," Remus mused, "I think that's exactly what Voldemort wants. And we'll have to be sharper than ever."

That feeling of dread felt earlier in the Great Hall, Robert decided, that butterfly-in-the-stomach, I'm-going-to-be-sick-any-minute-if-I-don't-get-out-of-here feeling…it just increased again, by a power of a thousand. _Can I click my heels together now???_

Robert swallowed. "I take it we're going to use that Portkey if it's still there?"

"Absolutely," said Remus. "Wouldn't have it any other way, now would we?" He smiled at Harry.

"What about Paolo?" Robert pointed at the crumpled up heap that was his friend.

"He comes with us. He needs to see the result of his doings." Snape ordered.

Minutes later, Remus, Robert, Severus, Paolo, and Harry stood outside the Slytherin Common Room. Severus gave the password, "_Sang Real_," and the door swung inwards. Severus stepped inside first. "This way."

Robert was the last of the group to enter the room. He had caught a glimpse of the damask red and rich gold decorations in the Gryffindor Common Room. By contrast, this one was also interesting. The dominant color of this room was a washed-down, patina green, with touches of silver and black. All of the tables and wooden furniture were covered with a high-gloss black enamel, detailed with shimmering silver serpents.

_Fire and water_, Robert thought. _Passion and coolness. _This room was definitely the opposite of that belonging to Gryffindor.

The couches and chairs were Spartan, with minimal cushioning, and minimal comfort. The fireplace hearth was immense, and the mantelpiece was shaped like a winding, writhing jumble of serpents. There were numerous paintings on the walls, all of straggled or scruffy looking wizards, and all of which looked as if they were purveyors of Dark Magic. Thankfully, each of the portraits was fast asleep.

This Common Room, unlike the Gryffindor one, was deserted. Apparently, the Slytherins were either asleep, or gathered up in the dormitory. Other than the loss of their comrade, Blaise, there seemed little concern from this House about the horrible happenings of the evening.

Robert followed the group up a winding staircase to a wide open dormitory. The seven beds in this dormitory were arranged in a semi-circle around a central pot-belly stove. The hangings and bedclothes were varying shades of green and silver. The room was full of students, jam-packed into the area around Blaise Zabini's bed locker, staring wildly into it.

One boy turned and saw Snape. "Professor Snape, sir! Blaise Zabini! He went in his locker and…what's Potter doing in here?" The other boys turned and stared at both Snape and Harry, with mixed looks of reverence and hatred shadowing their rather stupid-looking faces.

"Yes, Goyle, I know Zabini's gone." Snape ignored the boy's comment about Harry. "Malfoy told me all about it, I don't need to hear it again from your doddering mouth. Step aside now, all of you. Back to your beds before you all get detention and lose ten points each from Slytherin before classes even begin!"

The threat had the desired effect. All of the Slytherin boys scattered like cockroaches when the light turns on. Paolo sank down on Blaise's bed and sobbed anew. "Blaise, Blaise, _mio figlio_, what did I do? What did I do?"

Snape wheeled in disgust. "Snap out of it, Zabini, right now. Dramatics will not get your boy back. You must cooperate."

Remus and Robert bent low over the locker. Each of the items within looked harmless enough. "Don't touch anything," Remus warned, "let me try something first."

Remus took out his wand, muttered, "_Trovimagica," _and moved the wand in circles over each of the boxes in the trunk. One of the boxes – a box marked "chocolate frogs, one dozen" – shook violently, and gave off a yellowish glow. Remus held his wand over the box, and muttered another incantation: "_Revelius Incantatem_."

Robert stood transfixed. The box continued to shake, and gave off a small amount of steamy smoke. This smoke billowed and curled itself into a single word. _Portus_.

"There's your Portkey, Severus."

Harry leapt forward. "Then let's touch it, let's go!"

"Wait," said Robert. "You mean to tell me we just touch that box, and we're transported to wherever Blaise is? What – is that like _Star Trek_ or something where our molecules are all scattered and scrambled and then put back together again? I mean, what can happen? Anyways, we don't know what we're getting into! Voldemort could be waiting for us on the other side!"

"Robert," Remus stood and laid a hand on Robert's shoulder. "It's all by magic. Travel by Portkey is perfectly safe. You don't get scrambled up as you say, and you don't get scattered. More people have died from Muggle airplane crashes than Portkey travel…"

"Yeah," said Robert. "That's because Muggles outnumber you people by millions to one!"

Remus gave a wan smile. "Just trust me, Robert, you have so far." Robert nodded reluctantly.

Remus aimed his wand at the box again. "_Wingardium Leviosa_!" The box levitated. Remus moved it with his wand, and set it back down at the foot of Blaise's bed. "On the count of three, we all place our hands on the box. Snape, you ensure that Paolo's hand gets on there. One. Two. Three."

Robert reached out a tentative hand, and jerked it back, still uncertain. Harry grabbed hold of his hand and forced it onto the Portkey.

Robert felt a strange sensation, as if someone had tied a string to his middle and gave an immense jerk. He felt his feet leave the ground. He could not remove his hand from the box. It was stuck there, and it felt as if it would remain stuck until the end of the ride. Robert became slightly dizzy from the whirling, swirling images and color around him.

Robert felt like he was again falling down the abandoned well, and that he would again land in ten feet of frigid water. With that image in his head, Robert could feel his panic rise for at least the tenth time that night. The world continued to spin and eddy, the wind continued to rush past his ears and in his hair, when suddenly, it stopped.

Robert felt his feet hit ground, and he fell forward, onto his hands and knees. The ground was muddy and marshy with small bits of dead, dried vegetation sticking out at sharp angles. It smelled of earthy decay and mold. Robert pushed himself up, got to his feet and looked around. Snape, Harry, Remus and Paolo were scattered around him in a twenty-foot arc. Each of them was slowly getting to their feet. Robert looked wildly around for the box – the Portkey. It was gone. Like Blaise before them, their seemingly only way of returning to Hogwarts was left behind.

Without warning, Paolo took off in a mad dash toward the edge of the field. "Paolo!" Robert shouted. "Paolo, where are you going?"

Paolo did not respond and did not look back. Robert looked around to the others momentarily, and then took of in a sprint after his friend.

"Robert, wait! Robert!" Remus bellowed. "Come back!"

With a sudden jolt, Robert was wrenched backwards, and knocked off his feet. As the others came closer, he heard Snape bellow, "_Impedimenta,_" his wand aimed at Paolo. He looked ahead and saw Paolo fall in a similar manner, howling with anger and pain. Harry and Remus ran past Robert, gathered up Paolo, and began to drag him back.

"What the hell are you doing?" Robert yelled, getting to his feet. "I almost had him!"

"Yes, Langdon," Snape sneered. "And you also almost ran right into a swarm of dementors." Snape pointed to the sky above. About two hundred yards away, there was a tightly-packed group of tall hooded figures – some floating in the air, some hovering inches off the ground.

It was all Robert could do but stare in horror. The dementors were swarming and flying around a single, central spot. During the occasional breaks in the swarm, Robert could see within the apex of the dementors – a small portion of old, broken wall. Upon that wall was a tall post. Tied to that post was a young man. He was thrashing wildly and screaming in terror.

"Blaise." Robert breathed. "We're too late."

The words, "we're too late," sent a shockwave through Paolo. Paolo cried anew, rocking back and forth on the ground, his face buried in Lupin's cloak. Lupin looked up at Robert with pleading eyes, as if to say, "come here and help your friend."

Robert approached Paolo and turned him around. "What's done is done, Paolo. All we have to do now is get him out of here. They have him, yes, but they haven't kissed him yet! No one cares right this very minute why or how you did it man, but we need you here. We need you _sensato_, Paolo, in your right mind, ready to go. Your mourning, your _dolore_, will do nothing for Blaise right now."

Paolo looked past Robert -- toward the sky -- in increasing horror. At the same moment, Robert felt an immense chill course through his body, starting at the top of his head and flowing mercilessly through to the ends of his toes. As if played by a movie projector, every horrible thought from his lifetime began flooding back to him.

Robert heard the cavernous 'splash' as he hit the bottom of the well as a child, watched his father die. He saw the mangled body of Jacques Saunière, and the branded body of Leonardo Vetra. He watched Vittoria Vetra glare, murder in her eyes, at the Hassassin as he laid his hands violently upon her body. Robert saw the flash and heard the concussion of the anti-matter bomb exploding over Rome. Finally he felt the kiss of death as he fell two miles from an exploding helicopter with naught but a few yards of fabric to slow him down.

Everything around Robert started to swirl, fog over, and mist into nothingness. "What, what… what is happening?" He muttered.

No one answered. Silence. No one would ever answer again. Robert was finished, dead, and he didn't care. He did not want to live anymore. He felt as if he would never be happy again. Why bother? Why go on? Why not just…let…go... and…

"_EXPECTO PATRONUM!"_ A booming voice rent the air, scattering the increasing, enclosing silence. Robert suddenly found himself able to look up, able to lift his head again. When he did so, he saw an incredible sight. There were two dementors – and they were fleeing – but what were they fleeing from?

A stag. An immense, glowing white stag. Robert slowly started to feel normal again, the haunting images, wishes for death, and terrifying sounds fled from his mind. He looked to his right and saw Harry Potter, his wand still extended, and a bright, white glow emanating from the tip. The ethereal stag was still gamboling around in the sky, driving back dementors.

Harry looked at Robert. "All right there, Professor Langdon?"

"What the hell was that?"

"That, Robert, was a dementor." Remus said. "Being around a dementor is a wholly unpleasant experience isn't it? See now why they used dementors to guard Azkaban?"

"What… what did it do to me? I wanted to die!"

"Dementors, Robert, feed on every happy thought you have, drain them right out of you, and replace them with every horror and every nightmare you've had in your entire life." Remus explained, as he helped Snape to his feet. "I relieve the day I was bitten. Potter here, whenever the dementors are around, hears his mum and dad being murdered by Voldemort."

Harry lowered his wand, the two stray dementors now having rejoined the swarm.

"All right there, Harry?" Remus asked. "Nice Patronus, there. Prongs would have been proud."

"Thanks, Remus," Harry said. "But I don't think it can take on all those dementors out there."

Remus shrugged. "Likely not. We'll just have to come up with a plan as we go. Here, I brought this just in case, and it seems to be coming in handy." Remus handed Robert a large chunk of chocolate. "Eat it. It'll make you feel better."

"Chocolate?" Robert asked.

"Yes, chocolate. Undoes the effects from a dementor, gets you right as rain again in no time." Remus distributed pieces of chocolate to Severus, Harry, and Paolo.

Paolo, however, refused, shoving Remus' hand aside. "No. Let me suffer here. Let the dementors come for me, I deserve it!"

Feeling newly warmed and energized from the chocolate, Robert grabbed the candy from Remus and wheeled on Paolo. "Didn't you hear a damn word I just said?! No one here gives a crap right now. Snap out of your pity party and let's go get your kid! That's my 'nephew' out there, too, you know, and if you want to sit here and wallow in your own misery, then, well, screw you." Robert shoved a piece of chocolate in Paolo's mouth and began walking toward the swarm of dementors. Harry, Remus and Snape just stared, wide-eyed.

Paolo stood, brushed off his robes, and followed.


	4. Fourth Quarter

**Chapter Twelve**

**3:25 am – The Open Field – Unknown Location**

Paolo caught up to Robert in three long strides, and tugged at Robert's robes. _"Delfino, amico mio_, we need to talk." Robert turned and glared at Paolo, anger now starting to course hotly through is veins.

Before Robert could tell Paolo not to touch him, Remus, Harry, and Snape approached.

"The Aurors need to know where we are," said Snape. He aimed his wand high in the air and shot red sparks from the end of it. They flew up toward the cloudless sky, and fanned out in firework-type patterns. "A beacon. They'll be here in no time."

"What's an Auror?" Robert asked.

"My dad was one," Harry said. "It's like a wizarding policeman. Like your CIA or FBI, or Scotland Yard. They hunt down the bad guys, so to speak, and put them in prison."

As Robert opened his mouth to comment "about time we got them involved," two wizards popped into view, their appearances ripping the air and making a loud "crack" noise. One was a tall, black man with a bald pate and a large gold earring.

The other was a statuesque and muscular woman. From what Robert could see in the dark, this woman had bright pink hair and wore a plethora of piercings in her ears, nose, and eyebrows. Despite her punkish appearance, Robert thought she was rather attractive.

"Wotcher, Harry!" the female Auror said. "Dumbledore said you might be needing us. What's the fuss?"

Harry pointed at the dementors and the dais where Blaise was bound and gagged. "Them, Tonks. We need to get Blaise Zabini away from them."

"And who's this handsome bloke?" Tonks asked.

"This is Professor Robert Langdon, Nymphadora," Remus introduced a now blushing Robert.

"Ah, c'mon Wolfman! How many times have I told you to call me Tonks?" she groaned. She winked at Robert, and held out a hand. "I'm Tonks, and this here's Kingsley Shacklebolt."

"Pleasure to meet you sir," said Kingsley silkily. He had a deep, baritone bass voice, smooth as melted chocolate.

"Pleasure's mine," Robert replied. "Remus, will you be all right here if I take Paolo aside for a moment?"

Remus smiled. "With Kingsley and Nymphadora here we are in good hands."

Tonks snorted. "Remus, you ruddy windbag!"

Robert turned back to Paolo. "Let's have that talk now, the Aurors are here. They can take care of things for five minutes."

Like Paolo did earlier, Robert put his arm around his friend's shoulder and walked him away from the group, into the darkness. "Paolo, level with me. What happened to you?"

Paolo sniffled and shook his head, no.

"Paolo, if you don't tell me I can't help you. Do you want to go to that Azkaban place for killing…."

"Of course not, Robert, but what choice did I have? I had to obey him! I had to do what he said! You-Know-Who was merciful to me, though – when I killed those people, Professor Matado and Professor Vector, I wouldn't do it. I refused, but he has ways. He… he…"

"What did he do, Paolo?"

"Imperius curse. The Imperius curse. I didn't know what I was doing! I didn't agree to those murders, but he literally, physically made me do them." Paolo lifted his hand to his mouth as if he were going to be sick.

"But how did he get to you in the first place?"

"He's been here all along! Stalking in and around my house! I got a note a few weeks ago that the other…" his voice caught, "…Death Eaters, wanted to see me. I allowed them into my house, into Victoria and Blaise's house…and they brought You-Know-Who." Paolo sobbed anew.

"I was horrified. I had never seen him since he came back two years ago. I broke away from him. I never wanted to go back, ever! When I was in America with you, my mark – the Dark Mark never once burned me. Never once showed up on my skin and I was thankful. But when I came back here. It flared up constantly. I had to wear long sleeve shirts every day to keep Victoria from seeing it!"

Robert just stared.

"He came into my house, _Delfino_! My house! He threatened me. Threatened my household. He said that his other faithful devoted servants were in Azkaban, and they deserved to rot there for their failure to get the prophecy! He said if I could get it for him, he would spare Victoria and Blaise! If not, he would feed them to his dementors – both of them."

"Why is the prophecy so important to Voldemort?"

"In his hands, that prophecy is his greatest weapon. Right now, Harry Potter and Dumbledore are the only ones who know what the real truth is – how the final confrontation between Harry and You-Know-Who will turn out. That puts Harry at a significant advantage. He had to get it somehow. He couldn't get it out of Dumbledore's head. He's been trying for two years now to get it from Harry, but Harry's too strong…too good an Occlumens."

Robert bit his lip. He suddenly felt very exposed, very threatened knowing that he was one of the few who was privy to the full prophecy.

Paolo started furtively into Robert's eyes. "You-Know-Who – he provided the cryptex to me, and said he'd make me start killing one after the other until the prophecy was revealed, and I could deliver it to him. That is why, Robert, the clues contained within the cryptices – that's why they constantly referred to the prophecy, on the chance that someone would say the entire thing in front of me."

"That's why you didn't want to leave Dumbledore's office! That's why you insisted that there was more to the solution of the puzzle than just those six words we gave you."

"Yes, Robert. I was so close. So very close to seeing my family to safety."

"But why bring me?" Robert asked. "Why did you have to put me in such danger, and in such a weird situation? Why expose the wizarding world to a Muggle like me?"

"I told you, Robert. Dumbledore asked me to! I couldn't refuse! I had no choice in that matter either. If I could have somehow kept you away I would have. I know you almost died tonight, more than once, and I regret that."

Robert felt his ire bubble up again. "Then why the hell did you put me in that Shack with Lupin? You know he could have torn me to shreds! Yes, Paolo, I almost did die, thanks to you! You are feeding me such a line of bull right now, Paolo, I can see right through it, and I'm not even a Legilimens, or whatever the hell you people call it!"

"I will make no more excuses, Robert. But know this. I was still under the Imperius Curse when I took you there. I had just finished bringing Lupin and chaining him up, and arranging his clothes and case with the blood. I was cursed every hour on the hour, and I could not avoid it. I have no idea how the Dark Lord did it, or why he felt he couldn't trust me to save the lives of my family. The Dark Lord was essentially acting through me right then. I have no memory whatsoever of bringing you up there. When Lupin said that he…"

"I still don't believe you, Paolo." Robert said, coolly.

"But, _Delfino_! I knew what was going to happen! I saw the clue that the Dark Lord was going to put in that cryptex – the Mickey Mouse clue – the Muggle will get the kiss clue. He also told me that he was going to 'use Lupin's presence' to his advantage!"

"So what? So you did purposefully take me there!"

"No, Bobby, don't you see? The Wolfsbane in the cryptex! I gave you your way out! I gave you a means to tame Lupin and to escape! I have also been dropping you hints as to the solution to that cryptex since we met at Hogsmeade station! The color of your robe, the explanations of the Slytherin symbols, the hints left with the bodies. I thought you, of all people, would certainly put all of that together, and I am happy that you did! Robert, I even gave you the very solution when we were trying to open the first puzzle. Air, earth, fire, water!"

Robert couldn't believe his ears. He glared at Paolo with increasing fury, increasing distrust, and a blossom of hatred. How could Paolo betray him like this? How could Paolo chance his only child for a silly prophecy? "I've heard enough, Paolo. Enough."

Robert turned and started to walk back toward the group, Paolo following closely, still muttering apologies and apoplectic explanations. Robert stopped and threw his arm out to stop Paolo. He pointed. "Look."

There was a mass blaze of red streaks, seemingly shooting out of wands on either side of the dais where Blaise stood, still struggling, and still screaming. "What the…"

Paolo's eyes became wide. "Stunning charms," he shouted. "There must be Death Eaters there."

The two ran toward the dais. As they got closer, Robert could see the ground littered with slumped bodies, their robes billowing out with the slight breeze now picking up. He did not recognize any of them. Robert looked around, peered through the darkness into the faces of those others around him. They were all shaken and panting, but they were all in one piece.

"Is everyone okay?" Robert asked.

"Yeah," Harry panted. "Except Snape and Kingsley. They both took stunners to the chest. They'll be all right soon enough, though."

Robert stepped over a Death Eater to examine Snape's limp form. As soon as he did so, an all-too-familiar feeling swept over his body, for the second time in an hour. Dementors.

He looked up. The entire swarm of dementors was now circling right above Harry, Tonks, Paolo, Remus, and Robert, forcing them into a tight circle themselves. One of the dementors broke free of the enclave and swooped toward Blaise.

Paolo rushed forward. "No!" He ran directly toward Blaise, and tried mightily to undo the bindings. They were too tight and too firm. Paolo looked up at the dementor. "If you want Blaise, you have to take me, first."

A second dementor, as if taking Paolo up on his offer, dove in next to the first. From behind, Robert saw the dementors lift long, talon-like hands and push back their hoods. The heads behind the hoods were skeletal and gray, covered with a scaly, leathery substance. Both dementors leaned in close to Blaise and Paolo each. Paolo's body shook violently in the presence of his dementor, his arms and legs failing madly as if he was suffering a grand mal seizure.

"The Kiss," Remus shouted. "No!" He raised his wand. "_Expecto Patronum_!"

Remus' Patronus, in the form of a large dog, loped over to the two dementors and chased them away, just like a real dog would chase a rabbit or a squirrel. As soon as the two dementors left, two more took their place, lowered their hoods, and leaned in for the kiss. Paolo's body was once again plunged into vigorous throes of pain.

Harry, in turn, tried with his Patronus. Just like Remus' dog, Harry's stag was only able to scatter a few dementors. Like before, two additional dementors swooped in to take their places.

Tonks, in her turn, tried also. Her lizard-like Patronus had the same effect, and two more dementors approached hungrily.

Remus swore loudly. "It's not enough! We need a stronger Patronus! We need more than one!" Remus eyed the skies again. "There are hundreds of them! In order to get rid of all of these dementors we will need a Patronus at least four times normal size."

"But how do you do that?" Robert asked.

Remus' eyes glinted briefly. "Not me, Robert….us." He pointed at each one of them – including Robert. "All four of us."

"What?" Robert startled. "I can't do that."

Tonks looked around on the ground. She spotted what she was looking for, aimed her wand at it, and said, "_Accio _wand!" Paolo's ebony wand shot up from the ground, and Tonks caught it deftly. "Here you go, Robert." She handed him the wand. "Have a go at it with us. Ever conjure a Patronus before?"

"Nymphadora," Remus said hastily. "Robert's a Muggle."

Tonks' eyes widened. "Well, then he'll just have to hang on to us then, won't he?"

"Robert, come stand here." Robert didn't move. "Come now, Robert, there's no time to lose! Those two dementors are going to suck the very life out of your friend and his son if you don't help us! There are hundreds of dementors up there just waiting to take their turn! We have to get rid of them all in one shot, or Blaise and Paolo are done for!"

Robert stared at the wand in his right hand, and then walked briskly toward Remus. "What the hell do I do?"

"When I give the signal; there's not much time. Robert, think of the happiest thought you possibly can. Dig deep into your memories, your experiences. Harry, Tonks and I will hold on to you. Even though you're a Muggle, I hope, that our combined magic will flow through to you, and you can add to it. If it doesn't work, it doesn't – but we can't say we hadn't tried, then right?"

Robert was still skeptical.

"Okay, then Robert, on the count of three, I want you to think of that thought, and we will together say the incantation, _Expecto Patronum_. Got it?"

Robert nodded.

"One. Two. Three…"

Suddenly, Robert felt his resolve, whatever there was of it, failing. He stumbled over his feet and felt himself falling with the weight of the terror welling up inside him. As Harry and Tonks caught him up, Robert sensed the remaining dementors, aware of the growing fight against them, dive lower. Robert could feel ten times their effect. He saw again all of the horrible images he saw before. His memory also flashed to the flaming death of the camerlengo Carlo Ventresca and the dead body of Professor Vector he saw earlier.

_No, Robert…you need to think happy thoughts. Making love to Vittoria, being rescued from the well, getting his appointment to Harvard, playing in the water polo national championships and winning, his first publication, learning about and kneeling at the location of the Holy Grail. _Yes, those would do fine. Those would be the memories.

"_EXPECTO PATRONUM_!"

Harry, Tonks, and Remus' wands produced blinding sheets of white light. But the shapes of the Patroni were different this time. There was no stag, no dog, no chameleon. Robert couldn't quite tell what animal was produced from what wand, but he could clearly make out a lion, a badger, and a large bird – a raven. Robert screwed up his eyes and thought harder about the memories. "_Expecto Patronum_," he repeated.

He felt heat flowing through his body, culminating and pooling up in his right hand. His own wand, Paolo's wand, began to shake violently. He opened his eyes and looked up. The wand in his hand was glowing brightly, producing the same white light, forming a shape in the air above them. But the shape was unexpected. It was not the snake, the fourth Hogwarts symbol. Robert's Patronus, instead, was a dolphin. A large, sleek, bottle-nosed dolphin.

Earth…air…fire…and now, water. Combined.

The four Patronuses did just that. They combined into a mishmash of all four creatures. It had the head of a lion, the body of a bird, the feet of a badger, and the flipper tail of a dolphin. And it was beautiful.

"A Chimera!" Remus bellowed, laughing loudly and boisterously. "A ruddy Chimera!" Remus laughed again. "Go, go, get 'em!"

The Chimera was four times the size of any of the Patronuses that they, individually, had conjured before. It dispelled each and every one of the dementors, scattering them in all four directions, including those that were hovering over Blaise and Paolo. The Chimera cantered and swooped for a good five minutes until, its work finished, it disappeared.

Harry, Tonks, and Remus were still laughing with amazement and awe. "Looks like you really can do magic after all, Robert," Harry said.

Robert laughed. Then he saw Paolo and Blaise, and the mirth drained immediately out of him. They were both limp, pale, and unconscious. Blaise was still hanging from the pole, looking like a beaten up scarecrow. Paolo was passed out on the ground beneath.

"Paolo…" Robert murmured, and crossed the field to the wall and post. He started at a fast walk, his pace quickening with every step to a full-out dash. While Blaise was stirring slightly, and moaning, Paolo lay stock-still, his eyes unmoving, vacant.

"Oh, God, no…." Robert screamed. "Paolo!" He reached the wall. Harry, Remus and Tonks, who had followed, stopped behind him.

"Cor," said Tonks. "That doesn't look good."

"Please, Remus. Look at Paolo, is he…?" Robert couldn't bring himself to say it. He knew "dead" wasn't the right word for it. "Has he been…the d-d-dementor, did it k-k-kiss?"

Harry and Tonks undid the bindings holding Blaise in place, and slid him carefully off of the post, Tonks cradling him in her strong arms on the ground. Robert, aghast, fell to his knees next to his friend. Remus genuflected on the opposite side, peering into Paolo's staring eyes.

Remus flickered his hands in front of Paolo's eyes. There was no reaction. No sign of life. The pupils were open wide and dilated. Robert lifted Paolo's wrist and felt for a pulse. Paolo's heart did beat, but weakly. His skin, however, had turned cold and the color had all but drained from his face. Even before Remus said, "Yes, Robert, he's gone," Robert knew. One of those things – those dementors – sucked Paolo's very soul from his body. He was now a vacant, empty shell.

Robert buried his face in his hands, his fingers curling against his forehead in grief. "Oh, God, Paolo." This was the very last thing Robert would have expected tonight, with all the wondrous things he saw and experienced. Not once did he think he would be grieving over the loss of a friend. Especially this friend. Tired as Robert was, overwhelmed as Robert was, he could not hold it in anymore. He could no longer put on a brave face. He could no longer keep up the façade of Gryffindor-like strength.

He had been transported to a strange world. He had been nearly killed by a werewolf. He had seen a horribly mangled dead body. He had been attacked by an unworldly creature called a dementor – twice. Moreover, he learned that one of his very best friends was a murderer. A cold-blooded murderer and was likely a psychopath. Robert was spent. He'd had enough.

Robert sucked in a long breath, shivered, and then let go. He let all of those fears and emotions building up over the past twenty-four hours come pouring out. The tears flowed freely, unencumbered, and naturally.

Robert had not cried this hard for a long time. A very long time.

Robert barely felt it when Tonks lifted him up and embraced him. "It's okay, Robert. I'm sorry. I'm so, so, sorry Robert." Remus joined the embrace, as did Harry. Robert couldn't stop the tears.

"Let it all out, Robert." Remus said. "Let it all out."

Robert pulled away from Tonks, and rubbed his robe sleeve over his soaked face. "What do we do with him now?"

"Dad?" Robert turned quickly. Blaise was now sitting up, rubbing his head. "What happened?"

Remus rushed to Blaise's side. "Here, eat this. This will help you feel better." Blaise eyed Remus with distrust. "It's chocolate, Zabini. Didn't you learn anything in my class third year? You were attacked by dementors."

Blaise ate the chocolate. Remus passed the remainder around to Harry and the others. Blaise spotted Robert. "Uncle Bobby?"

Robert sobbed through a feeble smile. "Yeah, Blaise my boy. It's me."

"How did I get here?" Blaise stood on wobbly legs. He slipped on a wet patch of grass, and Robert caught him deftly. "What are you doing here?"

"You don't remember?" Robert asked.

"No. I was in my room getting some chocolate frogs from my trunk, and next thing I know I'm here, with all of you." Blaise looked down and saw his father. "Dad!" Blaise rushed toward Paolo's body. "Dad! Merlin's beard, Uncle Bobby, what happened!"

"Blaise, I am so sorry. We were too late," said Harry.

"Too late for what?" Blaise was panic-stricken. "The dementors, they didn't – they – they…"

"Kissed him, yes, Blaise. Your father is gone." _O Lame Saint…_

Blaise grabbed fast to Robert's robes and buried his face in Robert's chest. Just as Robert did moments ago, Blaise keened with grief over the loss of his father. But he would not be able to mourn for long. There were other, more pressing problems to attend to. Harry, as he did in the Great Hall, bent over, clutching at his scar, and screaming in pain.

"Now, Potter, just how does one dispose of a body that has been separated for eternity from its soul by a dementor?" A cold, steely, emotionless voice wafted from behind the crumbling wall. "The answer is, thusly: _Evanesco Corpus_!" A dazzling blue light shot from behind the wall, hitting Paolo's body square in the chest, and disintegrating it, inch by inch, until there was nothing left. Not even a speck of dust.

Blaise screamed. "Father!!!" Robert embraced him tighter, holding him fast, keeping him from running toward the source of the vanishing spell.

Harry slowly looked up from behind his hands. His face still showed a grimace of pure torture, but Harry was strong. He stood straight and defiant despite the burning pain in his scar. Robert followed Harry's gaze, his eyes resting upon a tall, skeletal, hooded figure emerging from the shadows. The man – the thing – had glowing red eyes and pasty white hands. Those hands were holding a long, thin wand.

"I knew you would be here," Harry sneered, "Voldemort."

_O Draconian Devil…._

**Chapter Thirteen**

**4:00 am – The Open Field – Unknown Location**

Lord Voldemort. He was the most horrible, most feared wizard of all time. From the first time Robert heard about this man, he had trouble picturing what he would look like. At first, Robert thought he would look not much unlike Dumbledore – aged, bearded, and powerful – but dark where Dumbledore was light.

This person now walking toward them looked nothing like he had pictured. In fact, his appearance was so frightening, so incredibly disfigured, that Robert, even at his most creative, could not have imagined anything like him. Voldemort did not even look human – he wasn't human, couldn't be. He looked, Robert thought, like something out of a science fiction movie – something horrific, something purely evil.

Voldemort walked, no, floated forward toward the group. As he came closer, Robert could see the face within the hood. The skin on his face was devoid of color, just like the hands. It was stretched taut and thin over a broad, wide skull, the cheekbones protruding at a sharp, eerie angle. The nose was prominent in its absence – there were only two tiny slits where the nose should have been. Voldemort was the very image of death – a fleshless skull. Robert remembered then that yes, Voldemort was death – he essentially died in his attempt to kill Harry Potter sixteen years ago. This particular Voldemort, this body, was resurrected, reconstructed, recreated.

Robert gasped. The most prominent feature of the face was the eyes – the bright, glowing red eyes. As the man, or whatever it was, came even closer, Robert saw his pupils. There were dark, vertical slits – like the eyes of a snake, a serpent – Slytherin.

Robert wasn't sure if he was horrified by this man's presence or infuriated by it. He wasn't sure if he should turn tail and run or, despite his horror, rush at him, wrap his hands around his throat, and throttle Voldemort. However, he knew that to do so would be pure suicide, and it would do nothing to help the situation. Voldemort was not going to be killed by the bare hands of a mere Muggle.

Robert could not dispel his hatred, however. Because of this thing – this Voldemort – Robert's friend, and two other Hogwarts professors were dead. Not just dead, brutally and violently murdered. Not only that, he was nearly killed himself. Leaving this day aside, Robert knew that Voldemort had caused a great deal of strife, grief, and pain. He hoped someday, that Voldemort would pay dearly for it – hopefully at the hands of Harry Potter. For now, there was little Robert could do.

No one spoke for a long moment. No one moved. Not Remus, not Blaise, not Tonks, not Harry. Snape and Kingsley still lay on the ground, unconscious from the stunning spells. Voldemort laughed -- just laughed – a purely evil, tinny, high-pitched, resonant laugh. Then his face turned grave, the stare intense. "Potter," he bellowed. "You have denied me long enough. I want that prophecy – I demand your life, just like I claimed what was mine years ago – the lives of your father and mother!"

Harry stepped forward. He was visibly shaking, and angry, but stood his ground firmly. "You really are desperate, aren't you, Voldemort? Do you really fear me that much?"

"Ah, the boy uses my name – uses it to mock me. Not even my loyal Death Eaters would dare use my name for the fear of me. Such bravery, Potter, such unmitigated nerve. Your parents would have been proud!"

"Leave my parents out of this, Voldemort!" Voldemort's comment obviously hit a nerve.

The skin around Voldemort's mouth stretched in a mockery of a grin. "Ah, now I see – you are not so valiant after all, are you? This show, this attitude – it is pure stupidity, Potter! You still do not realize who you are trifling with, do you?" Harry scowled, his anger and ire increasing exponentially. "I will have that prophecy, Potter! Now!" He laughed, and aimed his wand at Harry. "_Legilimens!"_

For the fourth time that night, Harry bent over double with searing pain. He clawed and scratched desperately at the scar on his forehead. The scar burned red, and Robert saw small drips of blood ooze from the site. Harry screamed – a high-pitched, plaintive scream of combined terror, defiance, and pain. "NO! You will NOT have it! You will not have me!" He shouted through the pain, raising his wand skyward with a trembling hand. "_PROTEGO_!"

Harry straightened up immediately under the power of his own protection spell. The pain had disappeared, replaced by a steely resolve, a renewed bravery, and fierce, piercing stare. Like Voldemort's red eyes, Robert saw that Harry's eyes were now themselves glowing – a bright, intense green. Robert could not escape the significance. Fire – red – Voldemort's eyes. Water – green – Harry's eyes. Opposites – places switched. Harry's crimson fire glowed in Voldemort. Voldemort's verdant water glowed within Harry. It was as if each left part of the other that fateful night sixteen years ago.

A very unexpected sound reached Robert's ears, interrupting his thoughts. It was Blaise, and he was nearly growling with revulsion and loathing. "Leave him alone!" Blaise shouted. Robert couldn't believe Blaise's bravery. "Leave Harry the bloody hell alone! Haven't you tortured him, the rest of us, enough? My father _died_ trying to get that prophecy you wanted! He taught me all my life to follow you, to be loyal to you – but in the end he saw you for what you really are! I hated him for it! I thought he was wrong! I thought he was betraying you, betraying our family! But now I see I was wrong!"

Robert grabbed Blaise by the arm and tried pulling him back, away from Voldemort, away from danger. Robert saw the smile on Voldemort's face stretch tauter – become broader. This reaction – this ire, this hatred – was just the reaction Voldemort was seeking. Blaise wrenched out of Robert's grasp and strode closer – dangerously closer – to the Dark Lord. "My father committed murder for you! He nearly killed his best friend to serve you. And this is how you repay him? This is how you treat those who are loyal to you?"

Silence once again dominated the atmosphere. The only sound was Blaise's deep, rapid breathing. Everyone, including Harry, stood transfixed, wide-eyed at Blaise. Robert was unsure if they admired his bravery, or fretted over the possible consequences of his sheer stupidity.

Those consequences came rapidly and without warning. Voldemort raised his wand in one swift move. "_Crucio_!"

The spell came flying out of Voldemort's wand. _This_, Robert thought, _is a powerful one_. Harry tried in vain to push Blaise out of the spell's path, but it made contact – hitting Blaise squarely in the face.

Blaise's skin glowed orange momentarily, and he crumpled to the ground. His face contorted in a horrifying mask of pain. For a long while Blaise produced no sound. He was unable to. The pain would not allow his body to function. Every muscle in Blaise's body seemed to contract and relax rapid-fire. His eyes lolled back into his head. Before Blaise passed out, he found his voice. That voice, however, did not belong to a normal human being. The scream rising from Blaise's throat was animalistic, basic, feral – the pain bringing out the very basic part of his subconscious.

Robert felt helpless. "What is that?"

Tonks knelt next to Blaise and caught him up in her arms. Voldemort released Blaise from the curse, but he was still in the violent throes of pain. The primal screams were still being pushed out from Blaise's very being.

"It's the Cruciatus Curse!" Remus yelled. "It is an unforgivable curse – like the Killing Curse. It causes horrible pain!" Blaise's screams finally ceased, and he lay nearly lifeless in Tonks' arms, breathing shallowly and rapidly.

Harry had enough. "Speaking of the Killing Curse…" He aimed his wand at Voldemort, who was now cackling with hateful mirth over Blaise's agony.

"Harry, no!" Tonks screamed. "Don't do it!"

Harry didn't hear her. He didn't care. He aimed his wand at Voldemort, took in a deep, great breath and bellowed, "_Avada_ _Kedavra_!!" Harry's voice was, for lack of a better description, otherworldly. When the Killing Curse emanated from his wand, his preternaturally green eyes burned brighter, more intense.

An emerald-green streak of light shot from the end of Harry's wand, and combined with the glow from his eyes. The salvo headed directly towards Voldemort's heart. Voldemort did not flinch. He did not move. When the curse was mere inches from his chest, Voldemort raised his hand, and moved it to the side, deflecting the curse behind him. The green flash struck the broken farm wall and exploded it, sending shards of rock and mortar flying.

Harry swore loudly, his verdant eyes still alight.

"What did my dear Bella tell you about using the unforgivable curses, Potter? You have to mean to kill. I still don't think you have it in you, Potter. But it is encouraging to see that you are still resisting me. That you are becoming stronger. I see more and more of you in me each time we meet."

Harry bristled at the comparison. "I will never be anything like you, Voldemort."

"Tut, tut, dear boy. You cannot ignore it any longer, can you? Look at you. You have become quite the Occlumens, keeping me out of your mind and at bay, haven't you, Potter?" Voldemort lowered his wand. His red eyes flashed.

Voldemort stepped forward toward Snape, looking down his flattened nose at Snape's crumpled body. "Getting back to business, now, before Mr. Zabini so rudely interrupted us. I do see Snivellus here has taught you well – he taught you this Occlumency, didn't he, Potter."

Voldemort pulled back his leg and gave Severus a vicious kick in the stomach. Harry jumped. Robert heard the breath leave Severus' lungs. "Pathetic traitor."

Voldemort raised his wand again, aiming it directly at Snape's head. Voldemort began intoning the Killing Curse, "_Avada_…" But he was interrupted by Remus' quick reaction. Remus flicked his wand at Snape and bellowed, "_Accio, Snape_!"

Snape's limp body flew up off the ground and pelted toward Lupin, landing with a sickening thud at Lupin's feet. Voldemort's face contorted into a livid sneer.

"Ah, yes, I know you." He pointed. "You are the werewolf, Remus J. Lupin." Voldemort's red eyes moved, away from Remus, now traveling over Robert. "My faithful servant, Wormtail, has told me oh so much about you." Lupin's eyes twitched slightly.

Voldemort sneered. "Ah yes, the sufferance of betrayal is quite a demon to bear, isn't it, Lupin – or should I say, Moony? Yes. I see the hatred for Wormtail in your eyes. Most unbecoming of your – character. What would dear, dear Padfoot and Prongs say? Rest their souls."

Lupin remained resolute. He was not about to let Voldemort provoke him. He was not about to give up any more of his grief, anger, hatred, or any other emotions to Voldemort.

"Oh well," Voldemort continued, "I do see that your Muggle meal for this evening had quite easily evaded your capture. I provided you with a free dinner – such easy prey, Lupin, you should have accepted my…gift. Too bad."

Voldemort suddenly turned again toward Harry, apparently no longer finding Lupin amusing. "Potter! I am disappointed. I can see that you are as stubborn and obstinate as I always knew you were. I will not get that prophecy from you. I see that I will need to find other means of obtaining what I want."

Voldemort paused, looking from person to person, as if scanning each one – Remus, Harry, Tonks, Blaise – landing again upon Robert. Voldemort's face broke out into another vicious grin. "Well, I do believe I know where to obtain my prize!" He raised his wand, aimed, but said nothing.

It took a moment for Robert to realize what Voldemort was doing. Those same images that flashed through Robert's mind during the dementor attack returned in full force. All of the fear, all of the panic, all of the pain, all of the death – every horrible experience – everything, down to when he was turned down for a prom date in high school – they all came racing back. Voldemort was probing Robert's memories now. He was using the same spell he used on Harry only a few hours earlier. Legilimency.

Except Robert didn't know how to prevent it. He, unlike Harry, did not have magical abilities. He did not have the knowledge of Occlumency. He couldn't block the drilling, the invasion into his mind. Robert felt helpless – powerless to keep the truth of the prophecy away from Voldemort.

Robert clutched at the sides of his head, trying in vain to keep Voldemort out. "Get…out… of … my… head!" Robert screamed. But the torture only increased. The memories became more real, flashed brighter and longer.

Robert could now smell the burning flesh of the camerlengo, could smell the dampness of the abandoned well, could feel the rush of cold air and the impact of cold water when he fell from the helicopter. He could feel the burn on his flesh and in his hair when the anti-matter bomb exploded over his head. Robert, like Harry before, collapsed on the ground, writhing. "I…won't…let…you…have…it!" Robert hissed through gritted teeth.

The torture continued for what seemed hours. Tonks, Remus, and Harry gathered around Robert, trying in vain to hold him, to ease his pain. Robert opened his eyes and looked plaintively at Tonks. "Stop this, please. Stop this."

Harry and Remus exchanged glances. "Could he take a double spell?" Harry asked. Remus knew exactly what he was talking about. Remus nodded. The idea was perfect, and Remus knew it would work.

"Robert! Robert! Can you hear me?" Remus patted Robert's face. "Listen, Robert, on the count of three, can you think of the prophecy? Say it out loud in your head?" Remus asked.

Robert, the pain and his memories still flashing through his mind, gained enough control to nod his head.

Harry whispered. "Remus is going to perform the protection charm for you. At the same time Tonks is going to modify your memory. She's going to take the memory of the prophecy out of your mind. If that memory's gone, Voldemort will know, and he'll stop looking for it."

All Robert could do is nod his head. Tonks bent over, grasped Robert's hand, and whispered furtively in his ear. "I'm here, Robert. Just hang on. Please. Hang on."

Robert could no longer hear them. He tried, he wanted to more than anything, but he just couldn't. All he heard were screams -- horrific, bloodcurdling screams. All he felt was panic. All he smelled was burning flesh. All he tasted was blood. Robert saw Voldemort's face in his mind's eye. It was taunting him, demanding to know where the memory of the prophecy was. Robert's resolve under this pressure was quickly failing.

"Do it now! He can't hold on much longer!" Tonks screamed.

Remus raised his wand above Robert and said, "_Protego_!"

At the same time, Tonks aimed her wand at Robert's head. "Robert…are you ready? Do you have it in your mind?" Robert nodded weakly, barely able to focus. He thought quickly of the prophecy. Tonks whispered gently, "One, two, three…_obliviate_!"

Robert felt a searing heat in his head, quickly replaced by a comforting, soothing coolness. It was a sweet, sugary, thoughtless oblivion. Voldemort had been driven out. He was gone. Thankfully, and finally, gone, as was the memory of the prophecy.

Robert began to sit up, aided by Tonks. "Robert! Look out!"

One of the Death Eaters, who was previously unconscious, stirred, aimed his wand at Robert, and said weakly, "s_tupefy_!" A shimmering red burst of light and sparks emanated from the Death Eater's wand – headed directly for Robert's chest. Tonks pushed Robert back onto the ground just in time, covering him with her body. The spell hit the ground behind Robert, leaving a charred scar in the earth.

The Death Eater scrambled up from the ground, and ran towards Voldemort. Tonks pushed up on her hands with the agility of a gymnast. She dashed after the Death Eater, throwing numerous hexes and curses, but he was gone.

"Damn and blast!" Tonks walked with long, annoyed strides back towards Robert. Before she reached Robert, however, something stopped her in her tracks, and she smiled broadly.

Robert still felt weak, still somewhat dazed by the memory modification. While he couldn't be sure, he could have sworn that he heard another loud _crack_, and saw the flowing-white robes and beard that could only belong to one wizard.

"Dumbledore." Robert breathed.

Harry wheeled around. His eyes made instant contact with Dumbledore's. Robert's head was still spinning, but he could tell – there was an unspoken communication between the two wizards. Each knew what the other was going to do, and they were going to do it – now. Both wizards nodded and started walking with determination toward Voldemort – they were on the attack! Dumbledore reached in his pocket and withdrew his wand, his eyes fixed upon Voldemort.

From the corner of his eye, Robert saw yet another hooded figure. He couldn't tell if it was another Auror, a Death Eater, or someone else. Before he could stand up to run or call for help, or whatever he would have to do to save his own skin, he heard the incantation again. "_Stupefy!" _ Again, the red streaks shot from the hooded figure's wand directly at Robert.

Before the spell hit, however, Robert heard yet another voice. It was that same cold, evil, hollow voice that resonated in his own head for the past five minutes. Voldemort's voice. "Dumbledore!" he bellowed. "You have caused another death tonight! _Avada_ _Kedavra_!"

A flash of green light mixed with the red. Both spells now streamed towards Robert. Robert's eyes widened in horror. There was nothing he could do to stop the spell from hitting him.

Robert felt a percussive impact – a rib-splitting kick to the chest. Robert heard Tonks scream, "My God, no! Robert!" The force of the spell threw Robert backwards and upwards. Like a rag-doll, Robert's body was literally thrown about ten feet into the air, and landed with a sickening thud, face down in the rotting muck.

Then, Robert lost it all. Sight, sound, taste, touch, and smell. Everything around him and within him went completely and utterly black.

_P.S. Find Robert Langdon…_

**Chapter Fourteen**

**Unknown Time – Unknown Place**

The noonday desert sun scorched overhead. Robert, having forgotten his sunglasses, shielded his eyes against the punishing glare. He heard laughter. Familiar, loving, wonderful laughter resonating from above.

"Hey! I can't see you!" He laughed. "Where are you?"

"Up here, Robert! I'm up here!" Her voice was teasing, taunting, and tantalizing – beautiful, with a hint of an Italian accent. "Climb up, you old man, and catch me before I make it to the top without you!"

Robert growled affectionately. "Old man? We'll see who's an old man!" He pumped his arms at his side and took the steep stone steps two at a time. The carved sandstone was gravelly and a bit slippery under his feet. "Woah!" His feet gave way slightly halfway up the Pyramid, and he had to wave his arms for balance and struggle to keep from falling back down the Pyramid's face.

Another woman, this one's voice tinged with a French accent, also yelled down at Robert. "Up here, Robert! I'm up here! Climb up, you old man, and catch me before I make it to the top without you!"

Robert's feet felt heavier, his arms like lead weights at his side. "Old man?" He panted. "We'll see… who's… an old man!" He shuffled his feet up the steps, one at a time now. With each step he felt like his weight was increasing by a factor of ten, or that gravity was tugging him earthward harder and harder. "Woah!"

He slipped again. Now he was three-quarters up the Pyramid's face. He fell a few steps, but managed to grip the edge of a step with his hands – but he knew he couldn't hold on for long. One finger at a time, his grip loosened, as if someone was prying his fingers away from the sandstone.

There was laughter yet again. This time, however, there was no mirth to it. It was hollow, metallic, and sinister –and this time, it was male. Someone else was laughing this time. "Up here, Robert!" the voice said, mockingly. "I'm up here! Climb up, you old man, and catch me before I…"

"Before you what?" Robert yelled, horrified.

"Before I turn my wand on these women and kill them!"

Robert's hand slipped again. "Wait, wait!" He cried. "Kill Vittoria? Kill Sophie? No! Stop! Please, stop!" His hands and feet failed him as he scrambled to reach the top of the Pyramid. With each step he managed to climb up, ten more steps appeared at the Pyramid's apex.

More laughter. Lower. More sinister. More menacing. Now, the laughter was filled with pure hate and loathing. The words were taunting. "Up here, Robert! Up here! Climb up before I…."

"No, no, no, stop! Don't do it! Please!" Robert cried.

There was a third woman, with a British, slightly cockney accent. "Up 'ere, Robert! I'm up 'ere! Climb up, you old man, and catch me before I _die_ without you!" Tonks!!! No, please don't kill Tonks!

The sinister laughter continued. "See, you're too late, Langdon! Too late to save the women you care most about! And guess what, Langdon – Tonks will die along with them!"

Robert still couldn't see the top of the Pyramid. The sun was too bright. There was too much glare. He couldn't make it up the steps in time to save Vittoria, Sophie – and Tonks. Especially, Tonks. But he had to… he… had… to…

"_Avada Kedavra_!" A blinding flash of green violently overtook and replaced the sun's luminosity. Robert knew instantly that Vittoria, Sophie – and Tonks -- were dead.

Or were they?

Robert's rational mind took over. Even in his near unconscious state, Robert realized, thankfully, that he was only dreaming.

However, his mind regained the rest of its function slowly, incrementally, like a light on a dimmer switch. The "on" button was engaged, but the slider was at the very bottom, providing only a very dim light. As the dimmer was brought up, Robert's first physical sensation was a sharp, twangy pain in his right hand. As he instinctively balled up his fist, he could feel a long, thin tube-like object move within the vein on his hand. He also felt something sticky, like tape, pulling painfully on the hairs on the back of his hand as his skin moved underneath it.

_What in the hell is this thing on my hand?_

As the lights came on further, Robert's auditory function began to return. The first thing he heard was a muffled "beep…beep…beep…beep…" He had heard that sound before in much the same circumstance – waking up in a Roman hospital after falling hundreds of feet from a helicopter into the frigid Tibor River.

More light. "Vittoria? Where…am… I?" He tried to speak, but the words came out in a muffled jumble of consonants and a long 'aaaaah.' Robert's teeth felt incredibly dry and parched, and his tongue felt like it was filling up his entire mouth.

_God, I'm thirsty._

He tried to move, but his body wouldn't cooperate. He twisted his torso slightly, but was deterred by a painful pinch around his pectoral area where an EKG monitor sticker pulled at Robert's chest hair.

_Ouch, that hurts. Come to think of it, everything hurts. _

Robert could hear voices. He couldn't decide if those voices were familiar or not. Some were younger, some older. Some male, some female. However, they were all distinctly British.

Robert definitely was nowhere near home -- nowhere near Boston. _Where am I and how the hell did I end up in a British hospital? Why aren't I in Boston?_

As Robert jogged further into wakefulness, he could distinguish more voices. Some were muttering concern, some were shouting orders. Doctors, maybe. Nurses? He heard some names. Harry… Kingsley… Remus. Tonks. Nymphadora Tonks.

Whoever they were, the sounds of their voices were pounding and ricocheting around Robert's head painfully. He tried raising his hands to cover his ears, but, again, his body wouldn't do what his brain was telling it to do.

_Why can't I move?_

Robert tried opening his eyes. He could move them, but the eyelids were sticky. Robert wondered how long he'd been out if his eyes were full of crust.

"He's coming around," a female voice said. "Quick, Harry, go and get the doctor!"

"Robert? Robert? Can you hear me? Say something, man!" Robert felt the side of his face being tapped and stroked and tapped again.

_Yes, I can hear you and you don't have to shout!_ Robert tried speaking again. "Where am I?"

Robert felt a warm, welcoming breath on his cheek as the woman leaned in to whisper in his ear. "You're in a Muggle hospital, Robert. You took a nasty…" she paused. Robert could feel her pull away for a moment, as if she was looking around. "spell to the chest."

_I took a _what _to the chest?_ "Muggle?" He still couldn't open his eyes. Robert felt the edge of a drinking straw on his mouth.

"S'okay, Robert, its just water. Have some. Doctor said it was okay."

Robert pursed his lips around the straw and drank heartily. It was cool, sweet, and yes, it did make him feel better.

"Yeah, you remember, don't ya, Robert? You took a stunner to the chest." She laid a hand gently on the offended area. Robert's skin spasmed involuntarily with pain. She jerked her hand back. _Merlin's Beard, why does it hurt so much…. Did I just say, Merlin's Beard????_

"Ooh, sorry about that, love. You nearly got picked off by the…" Robert felt the air stir as she raised her head again, "Killing Curse, but it just missed you."

"Why…what's a Killing…picked off?" Robert's mouth, thirst quenched, was able to function better. "What happened?"

The woman sighed. "Can you open your eyes, Robert?"

"No…stuck." He replied, still trying to move his hands.

_Why the hell can't I move?_

Robert heard the trickle of water as the woman soaked a cloth in the basin next to Robert's bed. "I'm going to wipe your eyes, Robert, okay?" Robert nodded. As with the cool drink of water, the cloth on his eyes was sheer ambrosia. "Better, there?"

Robert opened his eyes a fraction, and then clutched them shut at the bright light. He opened his left eye first, then blinked, and his right eye followed suit. He was in a hospital room. He could see a television on the wall, charts hanging from a bulletin board, and the sterile, white ceiling tiles and tracks from the bed curtains. He turned to his left, and saw the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life, he thought!

She had long, dark hair. Her skin was tanned and glowing, and her eyes were deep-set, large and brown. Even though Robert still had difficulty focusing, he could recognize this woman anywhere.

"Vittoria? Vittoria Vettra?" He blinked furtively, trying to regain focus. "Is that you? What are you doing here? I just had the most horrible dream about you…."

The woman daubed Robert's eyes again with the cloth and sighed. "No, Robert, I'm not Vittoria," she said. "I'm sorry if I look like someone you know. I can change that."

"What?" Robert's hand finally did his brain's bidding. _Yes, finally!_ He reached up and scrubbed the water out of his eyes. "But…" He looked again. Yes, it was Vittoria! What the hell was she talking about, not Vittoria….oh wait, he thought, looking again. "Oh, sorry."

"This is the way I normally look. The way I was born, Robert. I couldn't come into a Muggle hospital with bright pink hair and piercings, now could I?" the woman smiled warmly. "But judging from some of the characters I saw here today maybe I wouldn't have looked so off."

"Pink hair?" Robert scrubbed at his hair, his head aching worse than ever now.

"Yeah, Robert, it's me, Tonks. Nymphadora Tonks! Remember me? I stayed with you all day, mate. You've been out since about 4:00 in the morning!"

"What time is it now?" _Tonks? Wow, without all that crazy hair, she's beautiful._

"6:50."

"Well, that's not so long." Robert said.

"No, Robert. It is 6:50 am – but it's the next day. You've been in twilight for more than 24 hours."

Robert sat up. "What? What the hell happened?" He sat up too fast, in fact, and the room around him started spinning. He immediately felt an overwhelming vertigo. The bile rose in his throat and he thought for sure he was going to be sick.

"I told you," Tonks laid a hand gently on Robert's shoulder, calming him, and laying him back down on the pillow. The wave of nausea and dizziness passed mercifully. "You were hit square in the chest with a stunner. Normally we'd just let you rest it out -- shake it off – have a lie-in so to speak, but…"

"But what?" Robert asked. "Why am I in a hospital?"

"We lost your pulse. We thought it killed you, gave you a… what do they call it when your heart goes all funny and doesn't beat anymore or beats really dodgy-like?"

"A heart attack? A coronary?" Yes, Robert thought, Paolo said that before the night was through he would have one. And there. He had one. _No wonder my chest feels like its on fire!_

"That's it!" Tonks said. "Harry took one look at you, and knowing what he knows about Muggles, I mean he lives with the lot and all, he said he thought you had a heart attack. He said the best place for you would be at Casualty in a Muggle hospital. I'm not hot that I agreed with that, but we took you anyways. Harry said you'd have…er… medical records or a history or something like that … and that you'd probably prefer Muggle medical treatment than potions or anything they'd conjure up at St. Mungo's…"

"Okay, so where am I?" Tonks offered him another sip of water, which he accepted heartily. "Thanks."

"Don' mention it." She set the cup back on the bedside table. You're at Murrayfield Hospital in Edinburgh." Tonks smiled. "Hope we did you well by that one."

Robert looked around briefly. It looked like any other hospital in any other country. "I'm sure it's fine." Robert fell silent. The memories of the night before came flooding back into Robert's brain. "Tonks?"

"Yes, Robert?"

He reached up slowly and took Tonks' hand. "I do remember you. Frankly, you look a lot better now than with that pink hair…."

"I'm a metamorphmagi," she paused as Robert looked wholly perplexed. "I can change my appearance at will. If you like the way I look now – my natural state. I'll stay this way."

"Thank you." Robert sighed, too weary for any more magical surprises. "What about Harry? I don't remember everything that happened." Robert dug the heel of his hand into his forehead, trying to force the memory back into focus. "Were we in some kind of fight or something?" Robert looked down. "How did I get this burn mark here?" He pointed to the left side of his chest.

"Again, Robert, that's where the stunning charm walloped you a good one." Tonks explained. "And yes, we were in a mighty row last night at that." She squeezed his hand. "But you were very brave, and a very good fighter, Robert. We really needed a bloke like you, and you came through top notch."

The memories came back even more. "There were murders…and a werewolf…and…a dolphin in the sky?"

"Shush!" Tonks laid a hand over Robert's mouth. "Careful, we're around too many Muggles!"

"Last thing I remember was….Oh, God." The recollection hit Robert like an anti-matter explosion. "Paolo. Paolo's dead, isn't he? Those things…those," he whispered, "dementors, and Voldemort…they killed him. And Voldemort tried something – I don't remember what – with me – in my head -- and it was painful as all hell!"

Tonks nodded. Robert searched his memory again and gasped. "But Blaise? What about Blaise, is he okay? Please tell me he's okay, Tonks! What about Snape? Remus? Harry, the others?"

"Snape, Remus and Harry are fine, Robert." Tonks smiled weakly. She reached out and gently moved an errant lock of hair out of Robert's eyes. She placed her hand gently atop Robert's.

_She didn't mention Blaise_. "What happened?"

"More Aurors came -- to back us up." Tonks began, still whispering. "Dumbledore was there too. You should have seen it, Robert. Never seen anything like it, I haven't. Dumbledore was ruddy amazing. He and Harry together. No wonder the proph…I mean, no wonder Dumbledore's so fond of Harry. The two of them…they fought off the rest of the Death Eaters. Then, they set their sights dead straight on to You-Know-Who."

"And what happened?" Robert tried to turn on his side to listen better, but the pain in his chest told him not to.

"I didn't see it. The spells coming from Harry's and Dumbledore's wands were too bright. No one saw anything other than flashes of red, blue, green. All we know is that Harry and Dumbledore walked right into the fray – took You-Know-Who straight on. We heard Harry scream a few times – couldn't tell if it was pain, panic, or just battle screams. Heard You-Know-Who yell some curses, too, but we couldn't tell what. For all we know, they went in there to chat it up a bit, but I doubt it. You know how it is -- three went in, two came out – Harry and Dumbledore. Dumbledore looked okay. Harry looked a little well…nutters, a bit dodgy in the head, I guess is the way to spit it. We've no idea what happened to You-Know-Who."

"Did you ask …"

"Yeah, we did. Harry ain't talking. Not so much as a bloody word since, in fact. Dumbledore's not talking either." She smiled. "So, Robert, you didn't miss much."

Robert decided to broach the subject again. Although, judging from Tonks' demeanor before, he did not think the news would be good. "And Blaise?" He braced himself.

"Robert. You're still overmuch too weak. Maybe this should wait…"

"Just by that reaction, I know it's not good, Tonks. Please." He squeezed her hand. "Out with it."

"Right before you went all wonky on us from the stunner, You-Know-Who invoked the Killing Curse and aimed it right at you."

"I guess I remember that. I remember seeing the green, if that's what that was." Robert said.

"It got all mixed up with the stunning charm from that Death Eater. It would have hit you, and would have probably killed you, but…" Tonks lowered her head.

"But what?" Robert still did not like where this was going.

"Blaise." Tears began forming in Tonks' brown eyes. "He used his wand. He separated the spells. I don't know how he did it or how he knew how to do it but, being just a student and all, but he drew the Killing Curse away from you and…" Her tears became more pronounced and she began sobbing.

"He took the curse himself?" Robert asked, shuddering with dread.

Tonks nodded her head. "Yes. Blaise took the curse himself. Hit him square in the face, it did." She sniffed.

Harry entered the room. "Yes, Mr. Langdon. Voldemort's curse killed him instantly."

Robert looked up at Harry, his eyes widening in horror. "Oh my God. Blaise." The tears flowed. "First Paolo, now Blaise. Oh my God!" For the second time in just over 24 hours, Robert cried. Tonks, just as before, held him fast and comforted him. Her touch felt warm, loving, and it did dispel some of Robert's grief and terror.

"Why the hell did he do that? Why in God's name…?"

Robert felt a sudden urge to pull away from Tonks. His grief and sadness instantly morphed into something hot and deadly. He felt – a fury now course through his body. "Damnit!!" Robert yelled as loud as his weakened voice would allow him. "God Damnit! What the hell did we go in there for? What the hell did we all put our lives on the line for? He committed suicide? What use was anything we did?"

"Don't talk that way, now, Robert." Tonks patted Robert's hand nervously, and touched his face. "It wasn't all for naught."

"Like hell it wasn't! Two murders. One dementor's kiss…so much death and destruction and fear – Blaise and Paolo are dead -- for what?"

Silence. Tonks looked at Harry pleadingly, and then at Robert. Harry's face set in a jumbled up expression of pride, worry, and resolve. His voice was a harsh whisper. "For everything," he said, cooly. "For my mum and dad. For Sirius. For Ron and Hermione, Cedric Diggory! This war, Robert. It's over. Voldemort's gone. He's finished -- for good this time."

Without another word, Harry Potter turned on his heels and burst out of the room.

**Chapter Fifteen**

**5:00 pm – 5th September -- Murrayfield Hospital - Edinburgh**

Robert had never felt more stir-crazy in his entire life. Thankfully, he had Tonks at his side nearly the entire five days he spent there. Time also passed thanks to the occasional visits from Harry, Remus and yes, even Severus Snape. At least Remus and Severus had the smarts and the decency to attempt to look like Muggles during their visits. Robert, having grown accustomed to Severus' flowing, billowing robes, and long greasy black hair almost did not recognize him with his hair in a neat ponytail, and dressed in a black sweater and pants.

Despite his doctor's overzealousness, "While there's seemingly nothing wrong with your heart, Mr. Langdon, we can't let you go just yet until we find out what exactly made it stop!" Robert kept his patience in check. However, he did make it a point to pester his doctor and nurse at least eight times a day, telling them he felt just fine, pointing at the normal EKG monitor, and asking innocently when he would be released.

The visits from the Hogwarts staff and students made his stay much more pleasurable and the time pass much quicker. Remus' first visit was perhaps the most memorable.

"I need something to get my brain working again," Robert said, clicking off the television. "How about we play some chess?"

"That sounds wonderful!" Remus beamed.

"There's a chess set in the side table there. I asked the nurse to bring it to me last night from the games room." Robert pointed.

Remus dug out the chess set, and set it out on the bed table. Remus set up the white pieces, and Robert black.

"Okay, Remus. You're white. You go first."

Remus stared hard at the chessboard. "King's Pawn to D4," he said, without lifting a hand. The piece did not move. "Pawn to D4," Remus repeated. He looked up at Robert in confusion. "Why didn't it move?"

"What do you mean? You're supposed to pick it up and move it yourself!" Remus was thoroughly confused. "What, do the chess pieces move by themselves where you come from?" Robert chuckled.

Remus looked abashed. He smacked himself on the forehead and nodded resignedly. "Right. Muggle chess. I forgot." He picked up the offending pawn and placed it with a flourish on the D4 square.

After a few moves, Robert moved his Knight to overtake one of Remus' Pawns. Robert placed his chess piece in the same square, swiftly removed the Pawn, and set it to the side of the Chessboard.

"Now that's boring." Remus said.

"What is?"

"Just taking the piece off the board like that. In my kind of Chess game your Knight would have pounded the pulp out of my Pawn!"

"Yeah, this is pretty boring in comparison, isn't it?" Robert mused. He looked up at Remus. "How's Harry?"

"Same as before." Remus said.

"I don't suppose you can tell me what happened out there?"

"I'm afraid I cannot. I know Tonks told you that neither Harry nor Dumbledore have been inclined to tell anyone what really happened. I'm in the same spot Tonks was in…all I saw were bright lights and spells flying."

Robert and Remus finished their game in silence, with Remus eventually taking Robert's King in a well thought-out checkmate. Robert was too distracted to care.

Just then Harry arrived, carrying a small package. "Hello, Mr. Langdon. How are you feeling today?" Harry asked cordially.

"Much better, and I'm ready to get the hell out of here, thank you."

"I'm really glad you're okay. You really had me worried for a while there." Harry smiled weakly. "I'm really sorry about Blaise, Mr. Langdon."

"Please, Harry, call me Robert." He sighed. "And thank you. The news was really hard to hear, but I know you did your best to save him. Sounds like you saved all of us."

Harry did not respond. His face showed no sign of emotion or reaction.

Robert thought of delving further into the past few days' events, but thought better of it. Harry was truly a strange young man, yet he was brave, noble, and admirable. Recalling what Robert saw of him on the train and witnessing his prowess on the field, he thought it best not to say anything to possibly provoke him.

Breaking the silence, Harry handed a small package to Robert. "Here. This is from Professor Dumbledore."

"Thanks." Robert said, accepting the package. He unwrapped it, and within the paper was a small cryptex. "Oh God, not another one – do I need to solve this now? There haven't been anymore threats, have there?" Robert sighed.

"No, no, nothing like that," Harry said. "It's a gift. Dumbledore thought it would be a…well, a memento…sort of. Here, he sent a note with it." Harry dug the note out of his jeans pocket and handed it over to Robert.

Robert unfolded the note and read.

_Dear Robert:_

_If you should ever wish to return to Hogwarts, the contents of this cryptex, when touched, will bring you straight here – straight to this place if you feel you belong, where you are most welcome. Within this puzzle lies a small Portkey. All you need do is solve the puzzle to open it. The solution lies in your own magic._

_Yours very sincerely,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

Robert looked over the cryptex carefully. The carvings on the brass bands were normal, English letters. The green-tinged wood and patina-coated metal end caps of the small cylinder were decorated with water symbols – the Zodiac sign for Aquarius, the upside-down triangle Alchemaic symbol for water, the zig-zaggy Egyptian water Hieroglyph, the Christian shell symbol for baptism, and the Greek symbol for Aphrodite – the goddess born from the sea.

Robert figured out the cryptex immediately. There were seven rings. There were seven letters in the word describing Robert's own "magic," the word describing his Patronus. The solution was, "Dolphin." Robert simply locked the solution away in his memory, and resisted the urge to open the puzzle right then and there. There would be a time and a place to open it, Robert knew, and now was not that time.

"What is it?" Remus asked.

"It's an invitation to return to Hogwarts, whenever I want to." Robert smiled. "Thanks, Harry, for bringing this."

"My pleasure."

**7th September – 5:45 pm – Hogwarts Grounds**

Robert remained in the hospital for two more days. When, on 7th September, he was finally released, or, "sprung," as Robert put it, Tonks gathered his things for him, helped him out of the hospital, and saw him safely back to Hogwarts.

"Thanks for everything, Tonks." Robert said, blushing slightly. He walked closely beside Tonks as they strode up the school grounds toward the castle from the lake. Robert was under doctor's orders to start walking now that he was again able to. How better to start than with a tour of Hogwarts' grounds during the late daylight hours?

"I mean it," Robert continued, "I'm not sure why you stayed with me so much, Tonks. I really don't think I could have made it through that hospital stay without you. I hate those places, you know. Yes, Harry and Remus, and even Snape stopped by once in a while, but you were the only one to stay at my side constantly. Thanks for that."

"Stop prattling on about thanking me, you big wanker! Right, it's not like I had anything else to do, eh? Joking aside, Robert, it was my pleasure." She smiled subtly. "But, for the fifty millionth time, you're welcome for that."

Tonks put on a falsely pensive expression. "Oy, I'm not sure why I stayed either! Must be somethin' about you I like." She gave Robert a nudge on the shoulder. "Anyways, if it wasn't for you, Robert, we'd have never been rid of those dementors, right?"

Robert shrugged. "I guess so. It was all you guys, though – you and Remus and Harry. All that magic – it was you, not me. I'm still convinced that I have no magical talent in me. I'm just a plain old Muggle and that's what I'll always be."

Tonks lifted an eyebrow and pursed her lips. "Somehow, Robert, I don't really think so." She smiled. "I mean, you told me some really nutters stories there in hospital. Falling from a hilo, all that rot…there's gotta be something in you! I mean, you did have your own Patronus! That's some advanced magic, that is! Loads of fully-qualified wizards can't even conjure a Patronus!"

"How's Harry?" Robert asked, concerned, and changing the subject. Although it had only been two days since he last saw Harry, he continued to wonder how the events of that evening impacted this boy that Robert truly began to care about.

"Still not completely right in the head, I think. Gone a bit wonky. I can't put my finger on what's wrong with him but there's something well -- missing -- about the boy. Something that's not there. He seems almost -- lost." Tonks perked up suddenly. "But, his friends are right beside him, though. Hermione and Ron. They're two gems, they are. Ron's loyal to the bone, and Hermione's the cleverest witch of her age! They'll see Harry through all of this -- thick and thin, those two, don't you worry."

"He still won't talk about what happened?"

"Aw, no. Don't suppose anyone will ever find out what really happened with You-Know-Who and Dumbledore and Harry there. I can't even be sure he'll tell Ron and Hermione, and he tells them everything!"

"I'll try talking to Albus. Maybe he'll entrust the information to a Muggle."

"Ach, I'd be careful about what secrets Dumbledore offers to whisper in your ear anymore, Robert. Remember, the last one nearly got your brains turned to porridge by You-Know-Who!"

Robert rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I do," he smiled weakly. Robert pulled his freshly-cleaned wizard's robes tighter under his chin as the early evening September wind whipped and swirled in increasing intensity.

_My robes_, Robert thought, fingering the edge of the soft, downy wool. _My – robes – my wizard's robes_. Robert had forgotten all about his precious Harris Tweed. The Harris Tweed that Paolo transfigured for him. _My God, it all seems a world away now – a lifetime ago. Hell, I guess even I've been transfigured! _

Robert looked at Tonks with a new longing. Silly and sophomoric, he thought -- he had only just met her. She'd only been a player in a small fraction of his adventure, but she had been there through the worst of the times. She was by his side constantly, dutifully, and loyally.

Robert wondered how he could possibly return to Boston – return to his normal life -- leave this place, this world -- without taking at least a small part of it with him. _But what part to take?_

The idea illuminated in his mind like a Patronus charm.

"You know, Tonks, I'm going back to Boston in two days – after the funerals, and after I make sure Vickie's going to be okay. She's a real mess, but she's a strong woman – a strong witch, I mean. She has her family here to lean on. She really doesn't need me or my constant presence to remind her of what happened. Anyways, the Doctor gave me the okay to fly."

Tonks lowered her head slightly. "Aw, bloody hell, just as I was getting to know you and all." She blinked. "Always works out for me that way, doesn't it. I start getting attached and then…"

_Attached? Is this really what I want to hear? _"Tonks, I…" Robert interrupted. "I'm sorry. I know you spent a lot of time with me at the hospital – more than I ever could have expected. Much more. I know you are a great fighter, and a brilliant witch, but with Vol…"

Tonks cleared her throat.

"Sorry, with You-Know-Who gone, you may not even have a job to go back to…"

Tonks rolled her eyes this time. "Thanks for that reminder there, Robert. Just what I needed to make me feel better."

_Yes, I think it was what I wanted to hear._ "No, no, that's not what I meant." Robert said, flustered. He turned and faced Tonks, grasping her gently, yet firmly by the shoulders. _God, it would be so easy for me to just lean over and kiss her…_ "I mean, maybe you could…If you wanted to…I mean…"

"What?" Tonks winced slightly, somewhat flummoxed.

"Look, Tonks, I know we hardly know each other, but when you feel something, you feel something, right? And I'm getting pretty old," he laughed, then paused. "You're supposed to disagree with me there, Tonks – about me getting old there."

"Oh, yeah! Oh, no, Robert, you're not old. Not old a whit." Tonks said in a false confident, mocking voice.

"Thank you. As I was saying, I'm getting damn old, and I know you're still pretty young, but opportunities like this… people…women… like you, Tonks… just don't come along very often, so…"

"You want me to go to…to Boston with you?" Tonks blinked.

Robert nodded silently.

"That's a ruddy forward thing to ask a girl you barely know, and who's ten years younger than you, now isn't it?"

_Not quite the answer I was looking for… _"Well, Tonks," he said, gripping her shoulders tighter. "What can I say or do to convince you?" He smiled. She raised her eyes up and to the left, and held her hand to her chin in a grinning mock expression of contemplation.

As Tonks opened her mouth to answer, Robert heard a booming voice from the front door of the school. "Robert! Robert Langdon!" It was Dumbledore. "May I have a word, please?"

Robert sighed. "Hold that thought, okay, Nymphadora?" He placed a finger to her lips. "Tell me when I come back, okay?"

"Okay," she said. "But the answer'll likely be yes! And Robert, don't think you can go calling me by my first name if I agree to go with you. It don't give you the right."

Robert smiled and turned, his heart light and his stomach now doing little flip-flops with excitement. In all the pain and tragedy of the past few days, the prospect of spending time with Tonks was a brilliant beacon of light. He skipped, as much as he was able, up the front staircase toward the entrance door. Dumbledore greeted him with a handshake and a pat on the back.

"It's good to see you up and about, and so full of energy, Robert. You had us all worried there for quite some time – especially being in that Muggle hospital – brutal their kind of medicine. Remus Lupin told me all about it -- electrical heart starting paddles, tubes in your veins, and needles and the like. It gives me the shivers just thinking about it."

"Well," said Robert. "It did the trick didn't it? I'm here, and I guess I'm lucky to be alive."

Dumbledore looked past Robert, and down the staircase at Tonks. "Looks like you are lucky in more than one way, Robert. Nymphadora Tonks is one of the good ones, and she has really taken a liking to you. She is truly one of the cleverest witches I have ever met, short of Hermione Granger. She's an excellent Auror, dedicated, loyal, and trustworthy to a fault. You would do well to see that she's happy."

Robert wondered why and how Dumbledore knew Robert's intentions toward Tonks. However, by now, Robert knew not to ask, not to second guess, and not to wonder. "If she'll have me, I promise to take excellent care of her."

"You know that Harry would tell you the same, but in not-so-subtle ways. You see, Tonks is the daughter of Sirius Black's favorite cousin, Andromeda. Tonks and Sirius had a kinship like no other, and that affection passed through Sirius to his godson, Harry."

"Ah," said Robert. "The Sirius factor. Understood." Robert paused. "Albus?"

"Yes."

"What happened back there?"

Dumbledore looked behind him. "Back where? I don't see anything." There was a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

"No, I mean back in the field. With you and Harry and Voldemort?"

"Robert, I know now that I have endangered you far beyond your tolerance at this point. I cannot…"

"But -- Harry," Robert interrupted. "Tonks says there's something wrong with Harry. I've even seen it myself. He's, well, different. What is it?"

Dumbledore sighed. "What does one in your position as an art historian, for example, feel when a lifetime quest is over. Robert, how did you feel when you finally found the Holy Grail in Paris?"

"Happy," Robert said, "Relieved, joyful, fulfilled…"

"And then after a day or so?"

Robert thought hard. "Empty, I guess. Finished. As…as if there was nothing else to do…at least for a while…other than just talk about it."

"Then, you have your answer, Robert."

Robert pondered the impact of that. Harry had trained for seven of his nearly eighteen years to defeat the Dark Lord, Voldemort. He waited all that time for the opportunity, for the chance to take up arms and achieve his destiny – to fulfill the prophecy. Now that he's done it. What else was left for Harry Potter to do?

Robert hung his head. "I see. But there must be something else for Harry to do."

"Oh, there is." Dumbledore smiled, and laid a finger aside his nose. "There truly is. What Harry does not seem to understand at this moment, is that Voldemort is not truly gone. In spite of the celebrations, the pats on the back, the congratulations Harry may receive now, Voldemort never will truly be gone."

"What do you mean?"

"In Muggle politics, Robert, what happens when a dictator falls, or the head of a terrorist faction is killed or captured?"

"Someone steps in to take his place and the cycle begins again." At last, it dawned on Robert. Voldemort wasn't truly defeated. As long as there were Death Eaters loyal to him, unlike before when he was just weakened, he will live on. Robert knew the martyr syndrome well – and now he feared it would arise with force.

"So you see, Robert. Harry Potter's purpose in life is not extinguished, never will be. He still has the 'power the Dark Lord knows not…' and he will have it for the rest of his life."

"Power the what?" Robert asked.

"Oh, yes, I forgot. Tonks' well placed memory charm. Well, I for one will not expose you to danger and reiterate the prophecy to you. Harry was quite disappointed when he first found out you were not here to help us solve it. But now there's no need." Dumbledore paused, his eyebrows again raised, "or is there? Perhaps the prophecy is not yet completed. Hmmmm….interesting thoughts."

Dumbledore seemed lost in his own mind for a moment, then snapped out of it suddenly. "Well, Robert, it has been a pleasure knowing you. I do owe you a great deal of thanks and gratitude." Robert blushed slightly. He did not feel like he deserved any thanks.

Again, Robert felt as if Dumbledore were reading his mind. "I realize you may feel that your presence here was for naught, that nothing was prevented… but look at the miraculous end result. If it wasn't for you, if you weren't here to interpret all of those symbolic clues, then Blaise Zabini's death would truly have been in vain." Dumbledore paused. "I expect you will be at the funerals tomorrow and then heading back home to Boston?"

Robert shook his head. He was still reeling from Dumbledore's prior revelation. "Uh, yes. I will be."

"Well, then, safe journeys, Robert Langdon." Dumbledore shook his hand. "I do hope to see you again. Muggle _or not_, you are always welcome at Hogwarts."

"Thank you, sir. And thank you for the Cryptex."

"You are very welcome, Robert. And I meant what I said in the letter. You belong here, if you'll have it. If you do feel that longing to come back, simply open the puzzle, my friend, and the Portkey will transport you right into my office. You might give me quite a start should I be sleeping or daydreaming, thinking, or Merlin forbid, working, but I know, after the initial shock, I shall be most happy to see you."

Robert smiled and turned to leave.

"Oh, by the way, Robert," Dumbledore caught his attention. "I have one more token to pass on to you." He reached into his robe and pulled out a long, black wand. "This was Blaise's wand. Twelve inches. Ebony. Mermaid hair core. I'm sure he would want his 'Uncle Bobby' to have it, as a token of thanks. Victoria is in complete agreement."

Robert stared at the ebony shaft of wood. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his entire life. Robert felt tears flow for the third time in a week. "Thank you." Robert grasped the wand's handle with his right hand. It felt natural. It felt wonderful. He didn't want to let it go. It felt as if he had Blaise, or the memory of Blaise, right with him, to keep him company. "Thank you so much, Headmaster."

"Again, Robert, you are very welcome."

Dumbledore turned to return to the castle, and then turned back yet again. "Oh, Robert. One more thing."

"Anything."

"Are you sure you do not wish to stay on as the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher? I hear you can conjure up quite a Patronus, _Delfino_! I do believe that you could teach our third years a thing or two about fighting off dementors."

"I think the only thing I qualify to teach is Defense Against the_ Bad _Art, Headmaster!"

Dumbledore chuckled in response. "Perhaps, perhaps not. Oh well."

Again, Dumbledore made to leave, and again he turned back to Robert. "Oh, yes. I forgot. Old age, you know. Will you indulge me with one more 'one more thing' then, Robert."

"Yes?"

"Hold that wand firmly and repeat after me."

"What?"

"Just do as I say, young man. Repeat after me!"

Robert was mystified. "Okay."

_"Lumos Maxima."_

Robert winced in confusion, but held tight to the wand. He repeated the phrase_. "Lumos Maxima."_

The reaction was instant and incredible. Robert gasped, the breath nearly knocked out of him. He almost dropped the wand. The thing, the wand – it… it glowed! The very tip of the wand in Robert's hand actually glowed – an immaculate and powerfully luminous white light – a light that split the growing dusk before it.

"What the…how did I…?" _Did I just do what I think I did?_ Robert looked up at Dumbledore, his hand and his breath trembling. _Please, please tell me I didn't do what I think I just did._

Dumbeldore's eyes twinkled, his half-moon glasses reflecting the dazzling wand light. "See, Robert. We all knew you had it in you. Defense Against the Dark Arts – just as I said!" Dumbledore smiled and turned his back to Robert. He trod quickly up the remaining steps, disappearing into the castle.

Robert stared in utter bewilderment as the light from Blaise's wand slowly, and gradually, faded.

P.S. _Find _"Robert Langdon..."

61


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